-Jt. 


.^ 


/- 


7 


.  i-'^ 


/:.  <:*£     ' 


-ll  B  R.ARY 

OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 
Of    ILLINOIS 

634f?a79 

CTaE 


.v.', 


'•>>- 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 


University  of  Illinois  Library 


MAR  2  6 
FEB  2  8  1&78 


L161— H41 


>.  J>-*.J:'o  :..    A'  _ 


,W--.-i  , 


•iP-' 


S  C  E  N  K      IN      lei.'. 


".'i 


l   UK      il  E   T   R  l!    .\  T      K  R  O   :j      U  O  5  C  O  W  . 


■■■^wf^PP-. 


•  -V 


ilGHTEEN  HUNDRED  Al  TWELVE ; 


■*■ 


r.'^ 


OR 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA.  • 


,    iT>I 


c^«I  ^ff/ 


!•.''♦;>'*.  ■»!i.'  1.1?   •-••' 


».  ^ 


•■*. 


\.  *. 


Jj{vi  historical   J^omance* 


-t . 


BY   LOUIS    RELLSTAB. 


:'  V  / 


.  -.it 


^       NEW  YORK: 

STRINGER  &   TOWNSEND,   222   BROADWAY. 


1849. 


■■♦•  'i- 


^     ■- 


a(f' 


^'^'- 


.^ 


V. 


*^- 


fTU^r^Tf;,' 


>!^  x-\    .:^.  -^^ 


sA  "» 


*      \\ 


r  ..:• 


t 


BnvmxD,  according  to  Act  ef  OongreM,  in  the  yasr  1849, 
BT  8TBIN6BB  &  TOWNSBND,  « 

Id  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Diitrict  Oonrt  of  the  United  Statee  ibr  ibe  Soathera 

District  of  New  York. 


\ 


* 


»V.      •    T^(  "1 


■ .  «■ . 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

»'■  ■  •  ■ 

0t  the  Author  nZ  "  TBi^Uen  HunTrreHf  atnr  Ctorltje,** 

fProm  Blacknrood's  Magazine  for  Aogust,  1848  ] 


Ik  the  spring  of  the  year  1815,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  Lewis  Rellstab  by  name,  whom 
death  had  recently  deprived  of  his  father,  left  the  Berlin  academy,  where  he  was  pursuing, 
with  much  success,  the  study  of  music,  to  enter  the  Prussian  army  as  a  volunteer.  Napo- 
leon's return  from  Elba  had  just  called  Germany  to  arms;  and  the  rising  generation, 
emulous  of  their  elder  brethren,  whose  scars  and  decorations  recalled  the  glorious  cam- 
paign of  1813,  flocked  to  the  Prussian  banner.    But  young  Rellstab 's  moral  courage 
and  patriotic  zeal  exceeded  his  physical  capabilities.      Recruiting  officers  shook  their 
heads  at  his  delicate  frame,  and  inspecting  surgeons  refused  to  pass  him  as  able-bodied.      ^ 
Rejected,  he  still  persevered,  entered  a  military  school,  and  in  due  time  became  an  of- 
ficer of  artillery..  Leaving  service  in  1821,  he  fixed  himself  at  Berlin,  and  applied  dili- 
ijently  to  literary  pursuits.     He  was  already  known  as  the  author  of  songs  of  merit,  some 
t  f  which  are  popular  in  Germany  to  the  present  day ;  but  now  he  took  up  literature 
as  a  profession,  stimulated  to  industry  by  loss  of  fortune  in  an  unlucky  speculation.    Of 
great  perseverance,  and  active  mind,  he  essayed  his  talents  in  various  departments  of 
the  belles-lettres,  in  journalism,   polemics,  and  criticism.     As  a  musical  critic,  he  ranks 
amongst  the  very  best.    One  of  his  early  works,  a  satirical  tale  entitled  "  Henrietta, 
VI  the  beautiful  Singer,"  was  disapproved  by  the  authorities,  and  procured  him  several 
in.)nths'  imprisonment    in  the    fortress  of  Spandau.     At  a  later  period,  his  systematic 
'    ,       and  incessarit  opposition  to  Spontini,   the  composer,  from  whose  appointment  as  direc- 
"^■^^       Uii  of  the  Berlin  opera,  he  foretold"  the  ruin  of  the  German  school  of  music,   procured 
Ch,*       him  another  six  weeks  of  similar  punishment.    He  has  managed  several  newspapers  in  suc- 
t»      ciu-sion,  and  in  the  intervals  of  his  editorial  labors,  has  produced  a  number  of  fine  tales 
^       aiul  novels.  , 

^  Rellstab  is  one  of  the  few  living  Gernian  novelists  whose  works  rise  high  above 

thj  present  dull,  stagnant  level  of  the  light  literature  of  his  country.  It  is  not  now  outin- 
r*  "^tent  ion  minutely  to  analyse  Mr.  Rellstab's  literary  abilities,  or  to  criticise  the  twenty 
^^  compendious  volumes  forming  the  latest  edition  of  his  complete  works.  We  propose 
^  confining  ourselves  to  one  novel,  which  we  consider  his  masterpiece,  as  it  is  also  his 
Ion  rest  and  most  important  work,  and  the  one  most  popular  in  Germany.  Not.with- 
stan  ling  faults  we  might  have  glanced  at,  we  hold  "  1812  "  the  best  novel  of  its  class  that 
for  a  long  time  has  appeared  in  the  German  language.    Its  historical  and  military  chap- 


If  BIOORAJrarCAL  USTCa. 

ters  would,  by  their  fidelity  and  spirit,  give  it  high  rank  in  whatever  tongue  it  had  been 
written.  And  the  blemishes  observable  in  its  more  imaginative  and  romantic  portions  are 
chargeable  less  upon  the  author  then  upon  the  foibles  of  the  school  and  country  to  which 
he  belongs. 

A  translation  from  the  German,  unless  it  be  of  a  short  tale  in  a  periodical,  is  a  thing 
almost  unknown— certainly  of  rare  occurrence.  Miss  Bremer's  poultry-yard  roman- 
ces, and  Christian  Andersen's  novels,  reached  us  through  a  German  medium,  but  are 
originally  Scandinavian.  The  only  other  recent  translations  of  novels>  in  amount  and 
volume  worth  the  naming,  are  those  from  the  French  of  Sue,  Dumas,  and  Co.,  amusing 
gentlemen  enough.  The  German  literature  of  the  last  twenty  years  has  yielded  little  to 
the  English  translator,  or  rather  ha»  been  little  n>ade  use  of  j  for,  without  entertaining 
a  very  exalted  opinion  of  its  value  and  merit,  it  were  absurd  to  suppose  that  some  good 
things  might  not  be  selected  from  the  hundreds  of  novels,  tales,  and  romances,  that 
each  successive  year  brings  forth  in  a  country  where  any  man  who  can  hold  a  pen, 
deems  himself  qualified  for  an  aotbor ;  and  where  an  astonishingly  large  proportion  of  the 
population  act  upon  this  conviction.  Mr.  Rellstab's  "1812"  is  one  of  the  few  ears  of 
wheat  worthy  of  extraction  from  the  wilderness  of  tares  and  stubble. 

It  is  quite  natural  that  Mr.  Rellstab,  whose  youthful  predilections  were  so  strongly  mili- 
tary, who  himself  wore  the  uniform  during  his  first  six  years  of  manhood,  and  who  was 
contemporary, It  the  age  when  impressions  are  strongest,  of  the  gigantic  wars  waged  by 
Napoleon,  ia  ^pain,  Germany,  and  Russia,  should  recall,  with  peculiar  {Measure,  at  a 
later  period  of  his  life,  the  martial  deeds  with  which,  in  his  boyhood,  all  men's  mouths  were 
filled  ;  that  he  should  select  them  as  a  subject  for  his  pen,  dwell  willingly  upon  their 
details,  and  bestow  the  utmost  pains  upon  their  illustration.  His  original  plan  of  an 
historical  romance  was  far  more  comprehensive  that  the  one  to  which  he  finally  adhered. 
He  proposed  employing  as  a  stage  for  his  actors  all  the  European  countries,  then  the  thea- 
tre of  war.  This  bold  plan  gave  great  scope  for  contrast,  allowing  him  to  exhibit  his  per- 
sonages, chiefly  military  men,  engaged  alternately  with  the  Cossack  and  the  Guerilla — 
alternately  broiling  under  the  sun  of  Castile,  and  frozen  in  Muscovy's  snows.  But  the 
project  was"  more  easily  formed  than  executed  ;  and  Mr.  Rellstab  soon  found  (to  use 
his  own  words)  that  he  had  taken  Hercules'club  for  a  plaything.  The  mass  was  too 
ponderous  to  wield ;  to  interweave  the  entire  military  history  of  so  busy  a  period  with  the 
plot  of  a  romance,  entailed  an  army  of  characters  and  a  series  of  complications  difficult 
to  manage ;  and  that  might  have  ended  by  wearying  the  reader.  Convinced  that  his 
design  was  too  ambitious,  he  reduced  it ;  limiting  himself  to  the  Russian  campaign — it- 
self no  trifle  to  grapple  with.  This  plan  be  successfully  carried  out.  Although  well 
drawn  and  well-sustained  characters  are  early  introduced,  and  although  the  reader 
obtains,  in  the  very  first  chapter,  a  mystery  to  ruminate,  whilst  of  incident  there  is  cer- 
tainly an  abundance,  the  real  fascination  of  the  book  resides  in  the  account  of  the  ad- 
vance to  Moscow,  of  the  conflagration  of  the  city,  and  the  subsequent  retreat.  The  great 
power  and  truthfulness  with  which  these  events  are  depicted,  convey  the  impression 
that  the  witter  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  scenes  he  so  well  describes.  As  this  was 
not  the  case,  we  cannot  doubt  that  Mr.  Reilstab  obtained  much  information  from  some 
who  made  that  terrible  campaign.  He  acknowledges  his  great  obligation  to  Count 
Segur's  remarkable  history. 

.  ,.  .  i 


& 


r    :lM;Vc-'  '^'' 


,&^ 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE: 


'%" 

"^.- 


OR, 


»/  ■ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


X 


CHAPTER  I. 

About  sunset  on  a  mild  evening  of  April, 
in  the  year  1812,  Louis  Rosen,  a  young 
Grerman,  arrived  aH  the  small  town  of  Duomo 
d'Ossola,  situate  on  the  sloping  side  of  the 
Simplon.     He  was  tired,  for  he  had  travelled 
on  foot  from  Baveno  on  the  Lago-Maggiore, 
that  delightful  region  of  gardens,  which,  at 
all  times,  is  sheltered  by  the  Alps  as  by  a 
rampart,  from  the  rough  northerly  winds. 
The  youthful  traveller  received  the  genial 
impression  ;   but  he  came  from  Italy,  the 
sunny  land  of  indolence  and  pleasure,  which, 
«ven  while  the  whole  continent  was  convulsed 
by  the  storms  of  war,  had  succeeded  in  main- 
taining its  character  of  a  joyous  asylum  of 
the  arts.     But  young  Rosen  was  admonished 
to  seek  a  speedy  return  to  his  country  by 
those  momentous  events  which  had  thrown 
the  one-half  of  Europe  in  arms  against  the 
other.    His  mother  and  sister  lived  quiet  and 
retired  at  Dresden;   more,  however,  from 
choice  than  from  necessity.     Louis  had  lost 
his  father  while  yet  a  child.     He  knew  not 
in  what  manner,  even,  for  his  mother  had 
occasionally  merely  touched  on  the  event. 

The  last  four  years  had  been  a  period  so 
quiet  in  Northern  Germany,  that  even  two 
lone  women  had  managed  to  meet  the  exi- 
gencies of  tlieir  living  without  a  protector. 
But  now  the  columns  of  the  French  armies 
were  again  approaching  from  every  point. 
With  the  opening  of  the  spring,  Germany 
was  again  converted  into  a  vast  military  en- 
campment. For  these  reasons  was  Louis 
returning,  for  his  heart  prompted  him  to  fly 
to  his  mother's  side,  and  his  sister  in  her 
letters  had  informed  him  that  their  parent 
suffered  much  from  a  pulmonary  complaint. 
He  obeye<l  this  call  of  duty,  though  with  a 


fascinated  him,  but  because  he  dreaded  again 
to  tread  his  native  soil,  so  unfortunate,  so  de- 
graded, on  which  he  perceived  deeper  and 
more  incurable  wounds  than  those  inflicted 
by  the  Frenchman's  sword.     Louis  was  of 
that  age  which  is  most  susceptible  to  feelings 
of  happiness  and  of  sorrow.    He  was  three 
and  twenty.  His  mind  was  prone  to  grave  and 
serious  thought,  for  it  had  matured  amidst 
serious  conjunctures.     The  years  commonly 
allotted    to  study,  which  others   spent    in 
thoughtless  chase  after  pleasure,  or,  at  the 
best,  in  a  partial  devotion  to  books,  we^e,  in 
his  case,  a  season  of  vigorous  app^i<^tion. 
It  was  now  one  year  since  he  had  beheld  his 
father-land — two  that  he  had  not   seen  his 
mother  and  sister,  for  he  had  set  out  on  his 
travels  from  Heidelberg,  where  he  had  spent 
his  last  year  of  study.     He  now  again  stood 
before  that  snow-covered  and  gigantic  wall, 
which  separates  the  sober  soil  of  Germany 
from  the  sunny   fields  of   laughing  Italy. 
Oh !  how  did  his  heart  yearn  after  every- 
thing beloved  and  honored  beyond  the  Alps ; 
how  tenderly  did  he  stretch  forth  his  arms  to- 
ward his  kindred,  toward  the  sacred  precincts 
of  the  paternal  fireside  !    But  all  tiiat  he  loved 
were  immersed  in  trouble  and  sorrow :  all 
that  he  honored  was  profanely  debased  and 
insulted  !     It  was  for  this  that  his  feet  bore 
him  so  heavily  and  reluctantly  toward  his 
home,  to  which,  however,  his  heart  so  ardent- 
ly drew  him. 

With  these  feelings  possessing  his  breast, 
he  approached  the  friendly  little  town,  the 
last  place  in  Italy  which  was  to  afford  him" 
a  shelter.     A  hill  by  the   roadside   invited  ' 
him  to  ascend.     From  the  top  he  looked  - 
down  upon  the  landscape,  which,  as  usual 
in  the  South,  looked  more  beautiful  at  the 
evening-hour.     The  fields  were   clothed  in 


heavy  heart;  not  that  Italy  had  irresistibly  the  richest  verdure,  while  on  the  other  side  oJ 


•t. 


6 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWIlVE;  OR, 


the  mountain-ridge  which  towered  behind  the 
town,  the  flowers,  perhaps,  still  lay  benumb- 
ed in  their  dull  winter  sleep.  To  the  right 
Louis  had  a  view  of  the  turnpike  for  a  great 
distance ;  at  his  left,  the  market-place  and 
streets  of  Duomo  d'Ossola  Jay  close  at  his 
feet.  He  saw  the  merry,  unconstrained 
Italian  girls,  with  their  wide-brimmed  straw- 
hats,  promenading  the  market-place  ;  the 
fruit-woman,  with  her  basket  of  tigs  and 
oranges  ranged  before  her ;  boys  whirling 
their  balls  dexterously  into  the  air  ;  and  some 
French  dragoons,  of  which  the  town  held  a 
small  detachment,  sat  conversing  on  a  bench 
before  the  guard-house.  He  heard  the  dis- 
tant murmur  of  a  medley  of  voices ;  yes, 
even  detached  notes  from  the  songs  of  a 
guitar-player  reached  him  through  the  quiet 
evening  air. 

Louis  stood  lost  in  reverie.  Suddenly  he 
was  recalled  to  himself  by  the  horn  of  a 
postilion,  and  the  smart  crack  of  a  whip 
struck  his  ear.  An  open  travelling-carri- 
age, with  four  fleet  horses,  came  rattling  to- 
wards the  town,  on  the  road  from  Baveno. 
Two  women  were  the  only  occupants.  One, 
the  elder,  was  apparently  a  domestic.  The 
younger,  whose  sombre  garments  were  re- 
lieved by  a  delicate  lace- work  of  dazzling 
whiteness,  wore  over  her  straw  hat  a  green 
travelling-veil,  which  she  just  then  Uirew 
back,  so  that  it  fluttered  free  in  the  air. 
This  sight  awoke  vividly  a  circumstance 
^n  Louis'  mind.  On  his  way  into  Italy, 
as  he  was  descending  the  great  St.  Ber-f 
nard,  from  Aosta,  he  had  met  with  a  fe- 
male, whose  image  had  never  since  left  his 
thoughts.  While  climbing  the  mountain, 
just  before  arriving  at  the  hospice,  a  com- 
pany, seemingly  of  travelling  English,  passed 
him,  among  whom  appeared  a  slender  female 
figure,  upon  a  mule,  and  who,  as  a  protection 
against  the  blinding  whiteness  of  the  snow, 
had  covered  her  face  with  her  veil. 

Animated  by  a  strange  excitement,  the  Ger- 
man youth  had  done  his  best  to  overtake  this 
party,  yet  he  did  not  succeed,  the  distance 
between  them  being  a  very  rough  and  ira- 
practi  cable  •  piece  of  mountai  n-road.  Thus 
the  green  floating  veil  formed  alone  his  bea- 
con over  the  white  snow-fields,  until  h  van- 
ished witliin  the  gate  of  the  hospice.  He 
followed  within,  hoping  to  become  acquaint- 
ed with  the  object  of  his  curiosity,  in  the 
evening,  at  table,  but  in  vain,  for  she  did 
not  appear.  The  next  morning,  the  travel- 
lers had  resumed  their  journey,  at  an  early 
hour.  Hardly  had  Louis  heard  this,  before  a 
singular  determination  formed  itself  in  his 
brain.  A  young,  stout  pedestrian,  like  him, 
must  certainly  soon  overtake  a  party  of  tra- 
vellers encumbered  with  heavy  baggage,  es- 


pecially as  the  road  was  deacendinr.  In  a 
few  hours  he  had  indeed  discovered  uie  green 
veil,  in  a  winding  of  the  valley  below.  That 
magical  token  after  which  he  strained  his 
eyes,  was  actually  seen  fluttering  in  the 
distance ! 

After  infinite  toil,  Louis  had  drawn  quite 
near  the  ti^vellers — so  near  4hat  he  might 
have  called  to  them.  The  road  wound  again 
around  a  sharp  projecting  rock ;  he  quick- 
ened his  pace,  so  as  to  reach  it  in  time.  But 
as  he  passed  round  the  point,  he  saw  a  small 
house,  closely  embowered  in  vines,  hardly  a 
hundred  steps  distant,  before  the  door  of 
which  were  standing  two  country  vehicles 
adapted  for  use  in  these  mountain  regions. 
The  guide  who  had  been  leading  the  mule 
of  the  cliarming  unknown,  was  just  then 
assisting  her  to  dismount,  and  an  elderly 
gentleman  immediately  oflered  her  bis  arm, 
to  lead  her  to  the  char-a-banc.  Louis  has- 
tened forward  ;  once,  if  but  once,  he  wished 
to  behold  the  countenance  of  that  lovely  fai- 
ry, who,  l^  her  magic  chain,  had  drawn  him 
thus  far  a  blind  folbwer.  Blessed  chance  ! 
He  all  at  once  perceiwd  something  lying 
glittering  in  the  road ;  it  was  a  bracelet,  hav- 
ing a  golden  clasp.  He  picked  it  up,  aDd 
called  aloud:  "Stop!  stop!"  At  the  same 
time,  he  beckoned  with  the  hand,  in  token 
that  he  had  something  to  say.  The  guides 
who  had  accompanied  the  travellers,  turned 
round  and  came  towards  him,  but  he  hast- 
ened past  them,  towards  the  veiled  lady  in 
the  wagon.  ' 

"  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure,"  he  said  ,to 
her,  in  German  ;  "  shall  I  have  the  happi- 
ness to  return  to  you  a  lost  trinket?"  as  he 
reached  her  the  bracelet 

The  young  lady  cast  a  look  of  surprise  on 
the  finder,  and  then  on  her  arm ;  she  now 
first  discovered  her  loss. 

"  It  is  indeed  mine,"  she  answered.  "  Ac- 
cept my  best  thanks,  sir." 

The  sound  of  these  words  struck  upon 
Louis'  ear  in  quite  a  peculiar  way  ;  for, 
though  uttered  fluently,  and  with  uncommon 
sweetness,  there  was  in  them  that  strange 
intonation  which  at  once  betrayed  the  for- 
eigner. He  felt  a  blush  mantling  his  cheek, 
and  only  raised  his  eye  timidly  toward  the 
speaker,  who,  at  the  moment,  threw  back 
her  veil.  As  be  beheld  that  sweet  face, 
the  soft  brilliancy  of  the  beauty  it  re- 
vealed struck  him  with  astonishment.  Ho 
felt  as  if  an  angel  suddenly  stood  before 
him ;  a  sensation  of  sweet  oppression  and 
awe  penetrated  his  breast.  A  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  shaded  by  long  eye-lashes,  lingered  up- 
on him  with  an  expression  of  innocence  and 
goodness.  A  friendly  smile  played  upon  her 
lips,  and  such  a  mild,  noble  grace  was  stamped 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


on  her  features,  that  Louis  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot    In  vain  he  sought  for  words  in 
reply ;  to  the  blush  of  surprise  was  added 
that  of  embarrassment.    As  if  affected  by 
th^*  reflection  of  his  glowing  countenance,  a 
rosy  tint  spread  also  over  the  young  lady's 
cheek ;  she  bowed,  in  a  friendly  but  tremu- 
lous manner.    The  gentleman  by  her  side 
took  off  his  hat,  and  the  wagon  rattled  away. 
Astonished,  Louis  followed  it  with  a  steady 
gaze,  hardly  noticing  that  a  second  lady,  but 
older,  also  having  a  male  companion,  occu- 
pied the  other  wagon,  and  hurried  past  him. 
His  eye  wa^  riveted  on  the  green  veil,  which 
he  saw  floating  in  the  breeze,  and  becoming 
gradually  lost  in  the  distance.    Long  did  he 
remain  thus  standing,  till  the  last  trace  of 
the  vehicle  vanished,  and  the  cloud  of  dust 
which  it  had  raised  behind  it    had  cleared 
away.    This  sweet  apparition  had  never  left 
the    youhg  man's   imagination.      He  had 
searched  for  it  through  Italy,  but  in  vain  :  and 
now,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  that  land  of 
romance,  he  beheld  again,  suddenly — unex- 

Eectedly — this  signal  of  his  longings — his 
opes  !  Scarcely,  therefore,  had  he  ob- 
served these  travellers,  than  with  a  beating 
heart  he  ran  down  the  hill  and  gained  the 
open  space  before  the  guard-house,  just 
opposite  to  the  inn.  He  saw  the  carriage 
standing  at  the  door,  with  fresh  horses  al- 
ready led  out  to  be  harnessed  to  it.  A  large 
circle  of  idlers  had  collected  round  the  trav- 
ellers. An  officer,  issuing  from  the  guard- 
house, a  paper  in  his  hand,  made  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  approached  the  car- 
riagfr^oor  :  on  his  appearance  the  young 
lady  got  out  and  took  a  few  steps  to  meet  him. 
The  officer  bowed  and  addressed  her  with 
great  courtesy  ;  but  his  manner,  and  the  de- 
precating shrug  of  his  shoulders,  indicated  in- 
ability to  comply  with  some  wish  she  had  ex^ 
pressed.  Louis  drew  nearer ;  but  as  the  lady 
— of  whose  identity  with  her  he  sought  he 
grew  each  moment  more  convinced — had  her 
lace  turned  from  him,  he  made  the  circuit  of 
the  crowd  to  obtain  a  sight  of  her  counte- 
nance. Heavens,  it  was  herself !  Her  fea- 
tures were  paler  and  more  anxious  than  at 
their  last  meeting,  and  a  tear  trembled  in  her 
beauteous  blue  eye.  Yielding  to  an  irresisti- 
ble impulse,  Louis  approach^  her,  resolved, 
at  the  «sk  of  offence,  to  greet  the  lovely  be- 
ing whose  apparition  had  gladdened  his  en- 
trance into  the  glorious  land  he  now  was 
quitting,  and  to  remind  her  of  the  moment  of 
their  first  meeting  and  too  speedy  separation. 
He  was  encouraged  to  this  step  by  beholding 
her  unaccompanied,  save  by  an  old  servant 
seated  upon  the  box,  and  by  the  elderly  woman, 
to  all  appearance  an  attendant,  or  hunjble 
companion.  He  hastily  stepped  forward  out 
of  the  crowd,  which  had  fallen  a  little  back. 


As  he  did  so,  the  lady's  glance  met  his  and 
so  sudden  and  joyful  a  glow  overspread  her 
features,  that  he  could  not  for  an  instant 
doubt  her  recognition  of  him.    He  was  about 
to  salute  and  address  her,  when,  with  start- 
ling haste,  she  exclaimed  in  French,  "  Here 
is  my  brother  !"  and   hurried   to  meet  him. 
Before  Louis,  astounded  at  what  he  took  for 
an  extraordinary  mistake,  had  time  to  utter  a 
word,  she  continued  in  Italian,  and  in  a  loud 
tone,  so  that  all  around  might  hear  and  un- 
derstand, "Thank  God,  broker,  you  are  come 
at  last !"    Then,  in  a  rapid  whisper,  and  in 
Grerman,  "  I  am  lost,"  she  said,  "if  you  deny 
me."    With  prompt  decision,  she  turned  to 
the  officer,  took  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and 
presented    it   to  Louis.    "This    gentlemaa 
would  not  admit  the  regularity  of  our  pass- 
port because  you  were  not  present,"  said  she, 
reverting  to  the  French  language.  * "  See 
what  trouble  you  give  us,  dear  brother,  by 
your  romantic  partiality  for  byways  !     You 
are  Count  Wallersheim,"  she  whispered  in 
German. 

Startled  and  confounded  as  Louis  was 
by  this  strange  adventure,  he  retained  suffi- 
cient presence  of  mind  to  understand  that  it 
was  in  his  power  to  render  important  service 
to  the  beautiful  woman  who  stood  anxious 
and  tearful  before  him.  Readily  taking  his 
cue,  his  reply  was  prompt.  "Be  not  uneasy, 
dear  sister,"  he  said,  "  I  will  explain  to  the 
gentleman." 

He  turned  to  the  Frenchman,  and  in  or- 
der to  gain  time,  and  some  insight  into  the 
circumstances  of  the  case,  "  I  must  beg  you, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  to  repeat  your  objections  to 
our  passport.  Ladies  have  little  experience 
in  such  matters." 

"I  have  now,"  replied  the  officer, "  not  the 
slightest  objection  to  make.  You  are  set  down 
in  the  passport  as  the  companion  of  the  count- 
ess, your  sister,  and  yet  you  were  not  with  her. 
The  passport  was,  consequently,  not  in  order. 
The  countess  certainly  told  me  you  had  left 
her  only  for  a  short  time,  to  ramble  on  foot, 
and  that  you  would  rejoin  her  beyond  the 
town  ;  but  at  frontier  places,  like  Duoma 
d'Ossola,  our  orders  are  so  strict  that  I  should 
have  been  compelled  to  detain  the  young  lady 
till  you  made  your  appearance.  Rest  as- 
sured, however,  count,  that  I  should  have 
held  it  my  duty  to  have  had  you  sought  upon 
the  rcftid  to  Sempione,  to  inform  you  of  the 
obstacle  to  your  sister's  progress.  I  strong- 
ly advise  you  to  remain  with  the  countess  so 
long  as  you  are  in  this  district,  or  you  will 
inevitably  encounter  delay  and  annoyance. 
Once  over  the  Swiss  frontier,  you  are  out  of 
our  jurisdiction,  and  travelling  is  easier." 

[jouis  stood  mute  with  astonishment,  whilst 
the  old  servant  got  off  the  box, — took  from 
him  without  observation,  the  light  travelling 


X 


.^^'tfjprs- 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


ponch  that  hnng  on  his  shoulder, — laid  it  in 
the  carriage,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  be 
pleased  to  get  in.  Scarce  conscious  of  what 
he  said,  he  gave. the  officer  his  hand,  and  ut- 
tered a  few  polite  words.  The  servant  put 
down  the  carriage  steps, — the  gallant  French- 
man assisted  the  lady,  who  had  muffled  her, 
self  in  her  veil,  to  ascend  them, — bowed  low- 
and  repeated  his  wishes  for  their  pleasant 
journey.  Louis,  almost  without  knowing 
what  he  was  about,  took  his  place  by  the 
side  of  the  enigmatical  fair  one,  whose  duen- 
na had  discreetly  transferred  herself  to  the 
opposite  seat,  and  the  carriage  rattled  through 
the  streets  of  Duoroo  d'Ossola. 


CHAPTER  II; 

,    ■*- 

As  long  as  they  were  passing  through  the 
streets  of  the  small  town,  and  inhabited  houses 
stood  by  the  wayside,  the  veiled  one  observed 
a  rigid  silence,  and  indeed,  with  a  sign  of  the 
hand,  checked  the  first  attempt  which  Louis 
made  to  obtain  some  IFght  into  this  strange 
adventure.  He  was  thus  for  several  min- 
utes abandoned  to  his  own  conjectures.  Du- 
ring that  time  he  framed  a  possible  solution 
to  this  riddle.  According  to  all  appearances, 
his  companion  was  an  Englishwoman  ;  per- 
haps the  daughter  of  some  man  of  rank.  The 
new  war  had  served  to  redouble  the  hatred 
andfjealousy  of  the  French  against  all  of  that 
nation  ;  she  was  thence,  probably  from  poli- 
tical causes,  obliged  to  resort  to  cunning  and 
stratagem,  to  get  out  of  a  country  which  was 
in  the  possession  of  the  enemies  of  her. own, 
and  in  which  she,  pertiaps,  even,  might  be 
looked  upon  as  a  fitting  hostage,  and  thus  be 
arrested.  The  heart  of  Louis,  therefore, 
beat  high  from  joy,  that  by  a  marvellous  freak 
of  fortune,  he  had  been  singled  out  to  render 
a  signal  piece  of  service  to  a  being,  by  whose 
sweet  charms  he  had  been  so  sensibly  touched, 
and  by  whom  he  had  for  so  long  a  time  beien 
held  in  tender  and  mysterious  bondage.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  her ;  she  sat  trembling  per- 
ceptibly, and  breathing  heavily,  by  his  side. 
Finally  the  last  houses  by  the  road-side 
had  disappeared.  The  surrounding  country 
opened  lonely.  A  steep  and  continued  ac- 
clivity obliged  the  postilion,  who  left  his 
saddle,  to  change  the  rapid  into  a  slow  pace, 
so  that  the  deafening  rattling  of  the  coach 
ceased.  It  was  then  that  the  lovely  veiled 
one,  with  eager  haste,  seized  Louis's  hand, 
pressed  it  between  her  own  warmly,  and 
spoke,  whispering  from  an  oppressed  bosom  : 

"  You  are  my  deliverer  !  the  preserver  of 
what  I  possess  most  precious  on  e^rtb  !" 


And,  as  if  exhausted  by  mortal  aogaisb,  tad 
from  repressing  the  acutest  feelings  of  her 
breast,  she  drew  a  heart-rending  sigh,  saidc 
on  the  bosom  of  her  female  companion,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

This  elderly  companion,  althoagfa  poBsea- 
sing  something  cold  and  precise  in  her  as- 
pect and  deportment,  seemed  now  also  moved. 
She  endeavored  to  calm  the  weeping  girl ; 
but  in  a  language  which  Louis  did  not  un- 
derstand, and  could  not  suppose  was  Euglish, 
though  imperfectly  spoken.  The  unknown 
arose,  threw  back  her  veil,  directed  her  bine 
eyes  toward  Heaven,  and  folding  her  hands 
on  her  bosom,  appeared  to  ofier  up  a  silent 
thanksgiving.  Louis,  who  also  felt  himself 
moved  in  his  inmost  heart,  did  not  wish  to 
interrupt  the  emotion,  but  sat  looking  upon 
her  with  increasingsurprise.  She  responded 
with  ingenuous  frankness  :  "  How  shall  I  be 
able  to  recompense  you  ?" 

"  Recompense  ?"  replied  Louis,  quickly. 
"Fate  has  vouchsafed  me,  in  the  most  wonder- 
ful manner,  a  happiness  of  which  I  never 
dared  to  dream,  and  you  speak  of  recompense ! 
What  have  I  done  for  you  ?  I  know  only, 
that  like  a  goddess  you  have  sudddenly  ap- 
peared to  an  unknown  strange;,  and  over- 
whelmed him  with  untold  delisht !" 

"  Oh  !  you  do  not  know,"  she   answered,  • 
"  what  you  have  done  for  me  by  your  ready 
and  courageous  action !" 

She  wished  to  say  more,  but  was  interrapt- 
ed  by  the  old  domestic,  who  looked  back,  and 
spoke  some  words  in  a  foreign  tongue,  to 
which  she  replied  in  a  language  equally  un- 
intelligible to  Louis.  Sometimes  he  thought 
it  was  Spanish  ;  then  again,  Polish  idioms 
that  he  had  heard.  The  carriage  again 
rolled  away  at  a  smarter  pace,  and  the  con- 
versation was  cut  off.  In  the  meantime, 
they  must  soon  begin  climbing  the  long  as- 
cent of  the  Simplon,  which  on  «the  Italian 
side  is  by  far  the  steepest.  Louis  defi»rred, 
therefore,  his  desire  for  a  solution  of  these 
mysteries  until  then. 

They  soon  gained  an  open  platform,  where 
the  ^oad  turned  in  such  a  manner,  that  they 
could  throw  back  one  more  parting  glance 
toward  Italy.  That  fairy  land  lay  before 
them,  glowing  in  the  purple  tints  of  the  set- 
ting sun ;  the  sombre,  forest-clad  spurs  of 
the  Alps  reached  wide  into  the  blooming 
plains ;  foaming  mountain-torrents  wound 
their  silvery  course  through  the  vallies ;  the 
white,  shining  little  market-town  stood  out 
in  bright  relief  against  the  dark  back-ground;' 
the  far  distance  was  lost  in  a  crimson  twi- 
light, which  permitted  a  definite  outline  no 
longer  to  be  discerned.  "  Farewell !"  said 
Louis  with  emotion.  His  travelling-com- 
panion once  more  turned  her  beautiful  face, 
while  a  soft  feeling  illumined  her  features. 


V-    NATQL1X)N'»  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Her  lips  seemed  to  smile  at  a  tear,  which 
suddenly  suffused  a  hwnid  sparlding  over  Uie 
.  pellucid  crystal  of  her  €ye.  "  Farewell !" 
she  repeated  in  a  sweet-sounding  tone,  slight- 
ly waving  her  hlhd.  It  was  a  deep-felt,  but 
not  a  painful  adieu. 

The  road  now  being  so  exceedingly  steep, 
that  the  carriage  moved  again  slowly,  the 
moment  had  finally  arrived  when  a  conver- 
sation could  be  quietly  maintained.  Louis 
was  on  the  point  of  recurring  to  this  singular 
adventure,  when  his  companion  herself^  un- 
solicited, began : 

"  You  must  be  quite  strangely  impressed 
with  what  has  occurred ;  but  the  events 
which  at  present  agitate  all  countries  and 
nations,  often  conspire  to  place  individuals  in 
critical  positions.  Such  is  my  fate.  I  al- 
ready gave  myself  up  for  lost,  and  trembled 
■  for  a  more  valuable  object  than  my  life,  when 
heaven  sent  you  to  my  deliverance.  But  are 
you  willing  to  lend  me  your  assistance  still 
farther  ?" 

"  Until  I  draw  my  last  breath,"  was  the 
prompt  and  gallant  reply  of  the  German 
youth. 

"  Promise  nothing,"  remarked  the  un- 
known, "  until  you  know  what  I  have  to  ask 
from  your  generosity.  You  will  have  to  ac- 
company me  yet  further  in  the  character  of 
my  brother,  and  as  such,  to  escort  me  in  in- 
cessant travelling — even  to  Germany  L  And  it 
is  not  devoid  of  danger  to  you  !" 

Louis  repudiated  the  thought  that  any  dan- 
ger could  lessen  his  devotion. 

"  That  1  knew  very  well,  and  was  assured 
of  beforehand,"  said  the  unknown ;  "  but 
I  have  a  harder  confession  yet  to  make.  *'  I 
must  appear  ungrateful  to  you,  and  meanly 
suspicious ;  for  I  have  to  solicit  your  help, 
without  being  allowed  to  impart  my  secret, 
'  because  indeed  it  is  not  mine.  Others  have 
a  more  sacred  right  to  it,  and  I  am  bound  by 
the  most  solemn  obligations.  I  dare  hardly 
communicate  any  more  than  what  you  must 
already  have  guessed  at ;  that  I  am  not  the 
•  Countess  Wallersheim  *, — that  I  am  not  even 
a  German,  cannot  have  remained  doubtful  to 
yo»." 

"  But  by  what  name  then  may  I  venture  to 
address  you  ?  Must  circumstances  always 
conspire  to  keep  me  in  ignorance  ?"  enquired 
Louis,  with  concern, 

"  No,  I  hope  not,"  answered  his  compan- 
ion gently ;  "  and  until  then,  you,  may  call 
me  Sister  Bianca,  if  you  choose.  This  name 
must  for  the  present  content  you." 

"  Sister  !  Bianca !"  Louis  repeated  after 
her,  and  a  trembling  shudder  of  delight  shot 
through  his  heart. 

"  You  may  not  only  call  me  sister,"  said 
the  lady,  coloring  slightly,  "  but  you  must  do 
80,  unless  you  wish  to  betray  me.   Yoa  will 


soon  become  accustomed  to  it,  as  well  am  to 
the  confidential  ihott,  which  I  must  insist  i|>- 
on  your  using  in  public  when  addressing  me 
in  German.  But  I  must  reveal  to  you  some- 
thing more  touching  my  situation.  Yoa 
see  me  here,  accompanied  only  by  my  dd 
nurse,  and  an  old  faithful  man-servant — the 
only  ones  here  who  partially  know  my  secret 
We  could  travel  free  from  all  danger,  if  these 
were  the  only  sharers  of  this  knowledge,  but 
unfortunately,  it  is  already  betrayed.  Know 
then  that  as  far  as  the  city  of  Milan,  your 
place  was  occupied  by  another.  An  outnu 
geous  advantage,"  she  continued,  blushing 
deeply,  "  which  this  person  endeavored  to 
take  of  my  situation,  compelled  me  to  use  a 
lavorable  moment  to  flee  him.  I  cannot 
doubt  that  out  of  revenge  he  has  turned  in- 
former. Hence  my  haste,  my  terrible  agony 
in  that  small  town ;  for  every  moment  the 
order  may  arrive  to  arrest  us.  I  have  taken 
a  different  route,  it  is  true,  from  the  one  first 
contemplated,  made  practicable  by  the  indefi- 
nite tenor  of  the  passport  which  reads  from 
Rome,  through  Florence  and  Milan  to  Ger- 
many, for  properly  I  ought  to  have  come  by 
the  way  of  Verona  ;  but  how  easily  may  that 
precaution  be  frustrated !  how  easily  the 
traitor  himself  entertain  such  a  thought,  and 
cause  us  to  be  pursued  on  both  roads !  for 
there  is  jio  third  left  for  me  to  choose.  Vou 
know  now  how  much  you  risk  !  and  I  must 
also  tell  you,  tliat  the  crime  of  which  you 
become  an  accomplice,  would  be  very  severe- 
ly punished." 

"  The  greatest  of  all  crimes  in  this  case 
would  be  cowardice ;"  said  Louis,  firmly.  I 
do  not '  know,"  he  added  more  feelingly, 
"  whether  it  would  not  make  me  happier  to 
sufier  in  your  cause." 

Bianca  kept  silence. 

The  night  now  closed  in,  shrouding  all 
surrounding  objects  with  her  darkening 
curtains.  The  road  became  steeper;  on 
either  side  arose  the  grotesque  and  craggy 
cliffs,  while  the  stream  of  the  Veriola,  rushed 
foaming  and  fretting  below  in  the  abyss. 
Bianca  seemed  to  1^  exhausted  by  travel 
and  the  anxiety  which  she  had  undergone. 
She  leaned  back  into  the  comer  of  the  car- 
riage, and  fell  into  a  slumber.  The  excited 
feelings  of  Louis  suffered  no  sleep  tg  ap- 
proach his  eyes.  The  appalling  wonders  ot 
the  road  which  he  travelled  contributed  to 
heighten  the  restless  commotion  in  his  breast, 
and  yet  rocks,  precipices,  and  cataracts  were 
reflected  in  his  eye  merely  as  so  many  indis- 
tinct, confused  and  shifting  masses  of  objects. 

The  road  became  wilder  and  wilder ;  the 
Veriola  rushed  through  the  rocky  chasms  as 
in  a  rage ;  rocky  walls  towered  grim  and 
high  toward  heaven  ;  a  fpw  stars  only  twin- 
kled through  the  narrow  aperture  of  the  pro- 


10 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


found  defile.  Suddenly,  the  road  turned  a 
sharp  comer,  and  Louis  saw  before  him  a 
gigantic  spectre,  which  rose  in  a  tbreatenins 
posture  against  the  wall  of  rocks.  A  sound, 
as  of  dull  distant  thunder,  at  the  same  time 
struck  his  ear. 

Bianca,  awakened  by  the  noise,  cried  out 
in  terror  :  "  Merciful  heaven  !  what  is.  it  ? 
where  are  we  ?" 

"  It  is  the  waterfall  at  the  entrance  of  the 
great  gallery,"  said  the  old  servant,  turning 
around.  In  the  meantime  the  carriage  stop* 
ped,  and  a  bright  ray  of  light  shone  in  at  the 
windows.     The  postilion  cracked  his  whip. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  enquired  Bianca, 
anxiously.  "Are  they  going  to  arrest  us 
here  ?" 

"  This  is,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  boun- 
dary of  Lombardy ;  on  the  other  side  of  that 
small  bridge  before  us^,  we  shall  be  in  Swit- 
zerland," answered  Louis. 

"  God  be  praised  !"  cried  Bianca,  drawing 
a  deep  breath.  "  Gracious  heaven  !  only  do 
not  forsake  me  till  then  !"  she  added  in  a 
lower  voice,  lifting  her  beautiful  eyes  towards 
the  starry  night  above. 

Two  figures,  enveloped  in  grey  cloaks, 
stepped  up  to  the  carriage,  one  holding  a  lan- 
tern in  his  hand :  the  high  helmets,  with  horse 
tails,  made  them  known  as  French  dragoons. 

"  Votre passeport,  Monsieur"  was  the  po- 
lite but  decided  demand. 

"  The  pass,  dear  brother,"  said  Bianca, 
gently  pressing  Louis's  arm. 

Louis  drew  the  paper  from  his  breast-pock- 
et, and  handed  it  over.  However  little  a 
discovery  here  was  to  be  apprehended,  yet 
the  consciousness  of  his  situation  made  his 
pulse  beat  quicker.  By  daylight,  an  atten- 
tive observer  would  have  noticed  the  uneasi- 
ness of  his  countenance  ;  he  was,  as  yet,  a 
novice  in  such  adventures. 

The  oflScer  entered  the  house  with  the 
passport;  in  five  minutes  he  returned, giving 
It  back  to  Louis  with  the  words :  "  Voire 
Serviteur,  Monsieur  le  Comie  /" 

"  Forward  !"  cried  the  old  domestic,  and 
the  carriage  rattled  away  over  the  bridge 
towards  the  water-fall.  The  noise  was  deaf- 
ening to  the  ear,  and  white  clouds  of  spray 
and  mist  enveloped  the  carriage  as  with  a 
thick  mantle.  On  a  sudden  all  this  vanish- 
ed, and  the  travellers  were  immersed  in  pro- 
found darkness ;  the  thunder  of  the  cataract 
and  the  stream  was  heard  only  in  a  dull  hol- 
low reveberation. 

"  Where  are  we  ?"  enquired  Bianca. 

"  I  believe  we  are  in  one  of  the  galleries, 
through  which  the  road  passes." 

"This  is  the  gallery  of  Frissinone,"  the 
postilion  observed,  who  plumed  himself  not 
a  little  on  his  fainiliarity  with  the  terrors  and 
wonders  of  the  road. 


Neither  Bianca  nor  Louis  had  noticed,  that 
while  their  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  water- 
fall, they  had  passed  through  a  gap,  or 
rather  gate,  in  the  mountain.  The  carriage 
proceeded  slowly  through  •le  cavern,  where 
no  ray  of  light  penetrated.  Suddenly  a  half 
obscure  light  fell  from  above  ;  the  travellers 
looked  up  in  surprise,  and  saw  a  few  twink- 
ling stars;  which,  however,  were  as  sud- 
denly lost  to  view.  They  had  just  passed 
beneath  an  opening  in  the  vault,  which,  in 
the  day-time  admits  a  kind  of  twilight  into 
these  sombre  mountain  cuttings.  In  tea 
minutes  they  emerged  into  the  free  air  again. 
Bianca  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  God  be 
praised,"  she  said,  "  I  was  a  little  frightened 
in  that  dark  place ;  but  of  what  use  is  this 
gloomy  vault  ?" 

"  Principally  as  a  protection  against  the 
avalanches  which  mostly  fall  at  these  pla- 
ces. It  is  a  gigantic  structure,  undertaken 
by  that  Colossus,  whose  keen  glance  saw 
the  importance  of  this  work  in  -affording 
means  of  communication  between  his  king- 
doms. That,  before  which  twentv  genera- 
tions have  quailed  in  dismay,  the  bold  crea- 
tive spirit  of  Napoleon  has  made  a  reality, 
and  merely  by  a  nod  of  the  head." 

"  I  look  upon  him  as  a  prodigy  !  but  yet  I 
believe  that  this  misanthropic  spirit  is  more 
terrible  in  devastation,  than  powerful  in 
creating,"  replied  Bianca,  with  a  woman's 
shudder  at  the  warUke  events  which,  by 
her  words,  she  seemed  to  have  in  her 
thoughts. 

"  He  destroys,  only  to  create  anew,"  re- 
joined Louis  with  animation ;  "  on  the  lava 
ejected  by  the  volcano,  springs  up  the  richest 
verdure !" 

"  And  think  you  not  of  those  whom  he 
has  buried  under  the  ashes  ?"  asked  Bianca. 

Louis  sighed!  His  soul  was  deeply  af-  , 
fected.  Undoubtedly  he  thought  of  the 
buried  ones, — he  thought  of  his  father-land  ; 
but  still  he  was  unable  to  withhold  his  ad- 
miration of  the  man  before  whom  all  Europe 
trembled.  He  had  often  been  tortured  by 
this  conflict  in  his  own  bosom,  and  now  he 
was  going  to  meet  similar  dreadful  conflicts 
in  returning  to  his  home,  and  in  witnes.sing 
near'  at  hand  that  vast  conflict,  the  black 
thunder-clouds  of  which  gathered  every  day 
more  ominous  and  pregnant  with  misery. 

"  We  are  born  into  the  world,"  he  said,  af- 
ter a  pause,  in  a  subdued  voice,  "  to  atone 
for  the  guilt  of  our  fathers.  The  iron  car 
of  fate  crushes  (Is ;  ah !  I  know  it  but  too 
well !  But  I  do  not  lay  the  guilt  on  the 
heads  of  those  who  execute  the*  sentence 
pronounced  by  an  inexorable  Nemesis.  His- 
tory sits  in  strict  and  severe  judgment.  She 
judges  deeds,  not  the  doers.  It  is  from  this 
that  we  atone  for  the  misdeeds  of  our  fore- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


11 


fathers — but  our  own  likewise ;  for  dare  we 
to  exonerate  ourselves  from  cowardly  apa- 
thy and  degeneracy  ?  Germany— oh  !  let  me 
keep  silence,  for  my  heart  bleeds  at  the 
thought!"  - 

Both  were  silent ;  the  road  inclined  some- 
what toward  the  ea6t,  and  there  the  gentle 
moon  all  at  once  shone  forth,  floating  in  the 
purest  ether  between  two  rugged  peaks  of 
the  mountain.  At  the  same  moment  there 
arose  before  them,  high  and  promment,  out 
of  the  shadow  of  the  lofty  mountain-wall, 
two  silvery  promontories  of  snow,  like  horns, 
which  dazzlingly  reflected  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

"  My  God !"  whispered  Bianca,  her  bo- 
som heaving  with  emotion,  as  she  seized  the 
hand  of  her  nurse,  and  pointed  to  the  snow- 
pillars. 

"  That  peak  to  the  left  is  the  Sempione," 
said  the  loquacious  postilion,  turning  to 
Bianca's  old  servant. 

At  the  village  Sempione,  which  appears 
as  if  lying  close  under  the  snowy  peak  of 
the  mountain,  the  atmosphere  began  to  feel 
sensibly  cold.  The  travellers  tarried  but  a 
few  moments  to. refresh,  for  Bianca  urged 
haste.  Spring  here  had  not  yet  commenced, 
for  in  a  short  time  they  found  themselves  in 
the  midst  of  snow-drifts,  piled  up  to  a  con- 
siderable depth.  In  a  few  moments  the  pos- 
tilion made  a  halt 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  Louis. 

"  Hem,  signer,"  was  the  answer ;  "  this 
season  of  the  year  is  not  the  best ;  we  must 
be  careful ;  we  have  had  some  warm  days, 
and  then  the  avalanches  come  «booting  down 
like  the  hawk  on  the  sparrow.  I  must  fire  a 
gun." 

On  this  he  pulled  out  an  old  rusty 
musket,  and  fired  it  off  in  the  air.  The  re- 
port sounded  far  and  wide  through  the  desert 
mountains,  and  a  thousand  echoes  returned 
the  salite ;  then  all  was  still. 

"  We'll  get  along,"  said  the  postilion, 
urging  forward  his  horses. 

All  were  in  anxious  suspense,  for  each 
-one  pictured  in  silence  the  horrors  of  being 
buried  alive  under  falling  avalanches.  In  the 
space  of  a  few  moments,  all  the  narratives 
which  are  so  exciting  to  youthfql  fancy,  even 
in  the  tenderest  years,  of  these  terrific  mani- 
festations of  nature,  were  passed  in  review 
in  the  memory/and  with  the  same  half  deli- 
cious shudder  and  awe  with  which  they  had 
once  been  listened  to. 

A  thundering  crash  is  on  a  sudden  heard 
from  above. 

"  Dio  Sanio  /"  cried  the  postilion,  look- 
ing up.  But  instantly  he  struck  his  spurs 
fiercely  into  the  sides  of  the  horse  he  rode, 
flourished  his  whip,  and  the  carriage  flew 
along  like  an  arrow. 


Bianca,  in  her  terror,  seized  the  hand  of 
her  nurse.  Louis,  endeavoring  to  inspire 
courage,  cried : 

"  There  is  no  danger ;  these  men  know 
their  business  well,  and  are  uncommonly 
careful." 

But  hardly  were  these  words  uttered, 
when  a  terrible  crash  thundered  right  over 
the  heads  of  the  travellers ;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  mountain  was  sinking  with  them  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  horses  reared 
and  sprang  to  one  side,  so  that  the  carriage 
was  tnrown  hard  on  to  the  edge  of  the  preci- 
)ice.  But  the  undaunted  postilion  lost  not 
lis  presence  of  mind ;  with  spur  and  whip 
le  forced  the  animals  forward.  The  danger 
of  being  hurled  down  the  precipice  endured 
but  for  a  second ;  but  they  were  not  yet  free 
from  the  greater  impending  ruin ;  for  it 
thundered  and  crashed,  and  bellowed  terribly 
all  around  them,  and  suddenly  they  were 
enveloped  in  a  sort  of  white  cloud :  the 
ground  shook ;  a  powerful  concussion  of  the 
air  threw  Louis  down  from  his  seat,  while 
Bianca  clung  in  helpless  and  convulsive 
anguish  around  the  neck  of  the  nurse.  The 
white  cloud  quickly  became  darkened,  and 
was  changed  as  it  were  into  w,reaths  of  black 
smoke;  the  next  instant,  and  the  carriage 
was  arrested  in  its  course  by  a  dreadful 
shock,  as  when  a  ship  strikes  the  sunken 
reef;  the  axle-trees  cracked — the  women 
screamed — even  Louis  could  not  repress  an 
outcry  «f  terror.  Everything  suddenly  be- 
came shrouded  in  impenetrable  darkness. 
The  rolling  thunder  was  heard  for  a  few 
moments  longer;  gradually  it  died  away, 
and  then  all  was  silent  and  dark  as  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  m. 

"  That  was  a  deliverance  out  of  the  lion's 
mouth !"  cried  the  postilion.  "  We  have 
reached  the  gallery  in  safety." 

These  words  gave  new  life  to  the  terror- 
stricken  travellers. 

"  We  are  not  buried !"  cried  Louis,  joy- 
fully." 

"The  avalanche  must  have  fallen  very 
closely  behind  us,  signer,"  answered  the 
postilion ; '  "  for  the  icicles  and  snow-duat 
has  almost  blinded  me,  and  you  too,  I  think 
But  it  has  cost  us  one,  if  not  both  of  the 
axle-trees ;  for  I  felt  well  enough  that  we 
struck  hard  against  the  rock.  But  it  was 
no  joke  to  dash  on  a  full  gallop  into  that 
narrow  hole,  and  in  utter  darkness  too  1" 

Louis  did  not  hear  the  •last  words  of  the 
postilion,  for  he  felt  that  Bianca  was  sink- 


'^P* 


IS 


ElGHTfitSN  HWNl)<ttftW  A»b  tWELVE ;  OR, 


ing.    He  received  her  insensible  form  iti  his 
arms. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  sister!"  he  cried, 
pressing  her  gently  toward  him.  "  Sister, 
what  aileth  thee  ?" 

She  answered  not ;  Louis  trembled  with 
terror.  Had  that  terrific  moment  deprived 
her  of  life? 

Sparks  illumined  the  darkness.  It  was 
the  postilion  striking  fire  ;  by  the  aid  of  that 
fitful  light  Louis  saw  Bianca  lying,  pale  and 
with  closed  eyes,  in  his  arms,  and  the  nurse, 
also  apparently  senseless,  had  sunk  back  on 
the  seat  of  the  carriage. 

"  Light !  light !"  he  cried,  hastily. 

"  Directly,  Signor  !"    ' 

The  lantern  was  lighted,  and  threw  its 
feeble  rays  on  the  gloomy  stone  caverns  of 
the  gallery.  The  postilion  raised  the  light, 
saying : 

"  There  is  no  one  hurt,  I  hope  !  But, 
maldito !  where  is  the  servant  ?" 

Louis  now  first  observed  that  this  man 
was  missing.  "  We  must  look  for  him,"  he 
cried,  gently  depositing  on  the  seat  the  pre- 
cious burden  he  held  in  his  arms. 

They  found  the  servant  lying  senseless, 
close  by  the  entrance  of  the  gallery.  He 
bled  somewhat  in  the  forehead,  but  the  in- 
jury was  trifiing,  and  he  seemed  otherwise 
to  be  unhurt.  The  active  postilion  ap- 
plied a  handful  of  snow,  while  Louis  was 
trying  to  lift  and  rouse  him  into  conscious- 
ness. The  old  man  soon  recovered  his 
senses  again. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  he  asked,  more  in  aston- 
ishment tiian  in  weakness.  Louis  did  not 
waste  time  in  answering  him,  but  hastened 
back  to  Bianca,  with  the  lantern  in  his  hand. 
He  found  her  sitting,  reclined  in  the  car- 
riage, apparently  in  a  gentle  slumber.  When 
the  light  of  the  laAern  fell  on  her  eyes,  she 
opened  them,  but  closed  them  as  quickly, 
dazzled  by  the  light,  and  drew  a  deep  sign. 
Louis  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  called  her 
by  name  in  a  low,  tender  voice ;  she  then 
opened  her  eyes  wide,  and  asked,  in  an  un- 
certain tone,  being  still  half-enchained  by  a 
somnolent  influence  :  "  Who  is  calling  me 
thus  ?" 

"  Thy  brother,  Bianca  !"  said  Louis,  gen- 
tly. 

"  Brother !  brother  !"  she  murmured  anx- 
iously, still  unconscious,  and  leaned  trem- 
blingly forward  against  Louis'  breast — who 
pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  imprinted  a 
gentle  kiss  on  her  brow.  On  this,  she  rose 
quickly,  looked  upon  him  with  timid  and  as- 
tonished eyes :  and  withdrawing  with  maid- 
enly modesty  from  his  embrace,  she  said : 
"  My  God  !  the  swoon — I  do  not  know 
what  I  have  been  doing  !" 
At  the  same  time  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 


nurse,  still  sitting  in  a  comer  of  the  carriage, 
her  head  thrown  back  in  a  state  of  utter  ob- 
livion. An  expression  of  afiTright  swept 
across  her  countenance  at  this  sight :  she 
opened  her  lips  with  an  outcry,  but  it 
died  away  in  a  heavv-drawn  sigh.  The 
fainting  woman  moved,  and  pronounced  a 
few  unintelligible  words ;  at  least  they  were 
such  to  Louis. 

"  She  lives  !  she  lives !"  cried  Bianca, 
joyfully,  as  she  embraced  the  neck  of  the  re- 
cumbent invaUd,  tenderly  endeavoring  to 
bring  her  into  an  upright  posture.  "  Oh ! 
my  Margaret,  do  you  know  me  ?" 

Their  embrace  was  so  passionate,  that 
Louis  could  not  avoid  the  conclusion,  that  a 
more  intimate  relation  existed  between  them 
than  that  of  mistress  and  servant  But 
before  he  could  arrive  at  any  definite  idea  on 
the  subject,  Bianca  addressed  him  with  the 
anxious  query :  "  But  where  is — for  heaven's 
sake—" 

Iiouis  divined  what  she  wished  to  say,  and 
interrupted  her  by  giving  the  welcome  infor- 
mation that  the  servant  had  sustained  little 
injury.  In  the  meantime,  this  latter  came 
up,  together  with  the  .postilion.  Bianca 
made  an  impatient  gesture  towards  him  ;  the 
servant  bowed  respectfully,  and  said,  with 
earnestness :  "  I  am  very  glad  that  the  ladies 
have  received  no  injury  ;  I,  also,  happily  have 
escaped." 

Bianca's  looks  betrayed  some  inward 
struggling  emotion  ;  she  seemed  to  combat 
some  nidden  thought,  which  she  with  diffi- 
culty suppres_sed  giving  utterance.  The  old 
servant,  however,  paid  no  particular  atten- 
tion to  her,  and  said  abruptly :  '•  Now,  first 
of  all,  we  must  look  to  see  what  damage  the 
carriage  has  received ;"  on  which  he  snatch- 
ed up  the  lantern,  and  held  it  up  to  the  axle- 
trees. 

"  The  carriage  is  knocked  almcut  into  a 
thousand  pieces,"  reported  the  posmion,  who 
with  Paul,  the  servant,  began  examining  the 
wheels.  "  The  ladies  will  have  to  get  cut 
for  a  while." 
Louis  assisted  the  ladies  to  descend. 
"  Will  the  accident  detain  us  long  ?"  asked 
Bianca,  with  anxiety. 

"  Well,  yes,  Signora,"  answered  the  pos- 
tilion, respectfully  doffing  his  red  woollen 
cap.  "  We  may  drag  along  to  the  nearest 
post-house — perhaps  to  Brieg;  but  then 
there  will  be  one  -or  two  days'  work  for  the 
wheelwright.  The  off  fore-wheel  is  hroke 
right  in  two,  and  the  spokes  of  the  wheel 
scarcely  hold  together  -in  the  nave.  The 
pole, .  too,  is  all  gone  to  rack ;  I  won't  say 
anything  of  the  body  of  the  coach  ;  it  is  bad 
enough,  but  don't  count.  The  hind  part  is 
not  so  bad,  but  the  right  wheel  has  sufiered 
some  too." 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


During  this  lucid  description,  Bianca  cast 
tineasy  looks  on  her  companion  and  Paul. — 
Th<  latter  at  last  began  :  "  It  will  all  come 
to  rights,  gracious  Countess.  I  think  if 
smitn^and  wheelwright  are  well  paid,  we 
will  escape  with  the  delay  of  only  a  few 
hoars.  But  certainly  there  is  no  time  to 
lose." 

"Yes,  friend,"  said  the  postilion,  "all 
very  well ;  but  in  this  plight  we  cannot  get 
along.  We  must  first  cut  a  couple  of  sap- 
lings—one to  put  under  the  axletree,  and 
the  other  to  splice  the  pole  with.  The  mis- 
chief, however,  is,  that  we  won't  find  any 
trees  here  that  are  fit ;  for  if,  on  former  occa- 
sions, I  have  scanned  thjs  place  to  any  pur- 
pose, I  know  that  on  this  height  there  grows 
no  tree  that  we  can  make  use  of ;  here  is  no- 
thing but  crooked,  snarled  brush-wood  ;  half 
an  hour's  ride  further  down,  it  would  do 
much  better." 

"  Let  us  go  there,  then,"  said  Paul ;  "  for 
we  must  get  forward  at  all  events  ;  the  ladies 
are  in  a  hurry." 

'  The  postilion  stood  irresolute.  Louis  ^ 
thinking,  according  to  the  Italian  method, 
first  to  ascertain  how  much  the  postilion 
was  to  .be  paid  for  this  e^ctra  service,  offered 
a  very  handsome  reward  if  he  would  get  the 
carriage  in  order  again.  But  the  little  black- 
amoor, with  the  gipsy  face,  put  on  a  wise 
look,  and  said : 

"  That  is  very  easily  said,  but  not  %o  easily 
Jone.  When,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  the 
Avalanches  begin  to  fall,  there  is  no  security 
for  fifteen  minutes  together.  One  of  them 
falling,  sets  others  in  motion.  Yes,  if  we 
had  had  frosty  weather,  it  would  be  a  differ- 
ent thing.  But  I  ^mell  thaw,  and  then  old 
Nick  can't  trust  to  anything.  It  might  be 
very  possible  that  you  would  have  to  wait  a 
long  time  till  I  came  back.  By  daylight  now, 
one  may  turn  himself  about,  and  towards 
rooming  the  danger  will  be  over — for  what 
the  sun  loses  by  day,  with  the  warmth,  falls 
before  morning,  and  he  must  then  melt  off 
new  masses  before  any  can  fall  again  ;  but 
in  the  night-time  the  thing  is  not  to  be 
thought  of." 

.  Louis  imagined  how  distressing  a  delay  in 
their  progress  would  be  to  Bianca,  though 
the  most  threatening  danger  had  subsided. 
He  said,  therefore,,  resolutely,  "I  will  go 
with  you — we  will  share  the  danger  toge- 
ther." 

"  That  would  all  be  very  well,  Monsig- 
nor,"  answered  the  postilion,  without  alter- 
ing his  dubious  looks,  "  if  we  had  to  deal 
with  a  couple  of  gallows-birds  of  robbers, 
lurking  behind  the  bushes ;  but  the  ava- 
lanche makes  no  bones  of  our  being  two,  or 
three,  or  twenty ;  it  makes  a  clean  sweep 
with  everything  in  its  way  !" 


"  At  least,  let  us  try,  my  friend,"  said 
Louis,  seizing  the  lantern ;  "  I  will  go  b^ 
fore." 

Bianca  gave  him  a  look  of  thanks,'  which 
served  yet  more  to  fortify  him  in  his  par* 
pose. 
"  Have  you  an  axe  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Axe  and  rope  lie  in  the  chest  under  the 
coaoh-box,"  said  old  Paul,  who  opened  it 
and  took  out  the  axe. 

"Come  along,  then,  my  friend,"  said 
Louis,  resolutely  to  the  postilion.  "But  the 
servant  can  remain  with  the  ladies." 

"  Well,  then,  may  St.  Borromeus  help 
us !"  cried  the  postilion,  between  a  sigh  and 
a  malediction. 

Paul  stepped  up.*  "If  any  one  must 
go,  sir  Count,  it  is  I ;  and  you  ought  to  stay 
behind,  to  protect  the  ladies." 

Bianca  was  hesitating  whether  tc  beg  of 
Louis  to  abandoBthe  hazardous  undertalung. 
Two  feelings,  of  equal  but  opposing  power 
— duty  and  sentiment — struggled  in  her 
mind.     His  resolution  left  her  no  choice. 

"  No,  I  will  go  myself,"  he  said,  cheerful- 
ly.    "  It  must  be  as  I  have  said." 

With  these  words,  he  seized  the  lantern 
and  stepped  forward,  followed  by  the  posti- 
lion. 

"  May  God  protect  you,  my  brotner !" 
Bianca  cried  after  him.  The  postilion; 
being  better  acquainted  with  the  way,  took 
the  lantern  out  of  his  hand.  Hardly  had 
they  proceeded  fifty  steps,  when  he  exclaim- 
ed : 

"  Saint  Borromeo !  I  believe  the  gallery 
is  blocked  up  !  Look,  Signer — the  passage 
is  quite  choked  with  snow.  The  avalanche 
must  have  split,  and  fallen  at  both  eiftis  of 
the  gallery.  We  are  caught  like  rats  in  a 
trap ;  for  we  have  seen  but  too  plainly  how 
the  door  was  slammed  to  behind  us." 

It  was  as  the  postilion  had  said.  A  few 
steps  forward  sufficed  ^to  convince  Louis  that 
the  outlet  was  entirely  filled  up  with  snow. 
"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?"  he  said, 
shuddering  at  the  idea  of  being  a  prisoner 
in  this  cavern. 

"  What  must  we  do  ?  We  must  go  back 
to  the  ladies  ;  for  here  we  cannot  pass,  until 
we  are  dug  out,"  answered  the  postilion.  ' 
"  But  will  anybody  help  us  ?" 
"  Pshaw  ! — I  have  no  fear  of  that.  The 
folks  in  Sempione  must  be  stone-deaf  if  they 
have  not  heard  that  avalanche.  And  if  I  am 
not  back  with  the  horses  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, they  will  seek  me  out,  I'll  warrant." 

Somewhat  calmed  by  this  answer,  Louis 
returned  to  the  ladies,  and  related  to  them 
the  condition  in  which  they  were  placed. 
Bianca  listened  with  anxiety,  but  resigna- 
tion ;  and,  raising  her  eyes  heavenward,  she 
said : 


k 


14 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


"  We  must  endnre  what  God  sends  upon 
ns ;  He  alone  can  order  our  fate.  So  let  it 
be.  I  am  prepared  for  whatever  may  hap- 
pen!" 

The  postilion,  who  could  discover  nothing 
extraordinary  in  the  case,  tried  to  console 
and  cheer  her. 

"  Signora,  there  is  no  danger  ;  they  will 
come  and  deliver  ns ;  to-morrow  you  will  be 
safe  and  sound  in  Brieg — that  you  may  rely 
upon.  In  the  meantime,  however,  we  will 
try  to  give  them  a  signal.  No  doubt  we  can 
let  in  as  much  atr  through  the  snow,  that 
the  report  of  a  musket  may  be  heard.  On 
hearing  us  at  the  post-house,  which  can't 
be  far  hence,  they  will  ring  the  alarm-bells, 
and  at  day-break  there  will  be  people  enough 
here  to  unearth  ns." 

Having  said  this,  the  mfrry  and  nimble 
Italian  busied  himself  directly  with  taking 
out  the  pole  of  the  carriage,  with  which  he 
intended  to  pierce  a  hole  through  the  snow. 
But  while  thus  occupied,  a  distant  rumbling 
was  heard. 

Bianca  started  in  affright.  "  What  is 
that  ?"  she  asked. 

"  You'll  hear  directly,"  said  the  postilion, 
assuming  the  posture  of  a  listener.    "  There  i 
you  have  it ! — didn't  I  tell  you  ?     It  is  a 
second  avalanche." 

The  report  was  repeated  two.  three  times, 
with  increased  loudness,  one  following  the 
other  in  rapid  succession — then  followed  a 
long-continaed,  rattling  noise,  as  of  an  im- 
mense load  of  stones  falling  headlong  down 
an  abyss ;  it  approached  nearer — now  it 
rattled  right  over  the  heads  of  the  listeners, 
as  if  about  to  demolish  the  roof  of  the  gallery. 
Bianca  clung,  terrified,  to  the  side  of  Mar- 
garet ;  even  the  men  betrayed  fear.  But 
the  postilion  laughed  as  he  said  :  "  It  can't 
rain  through  here  !"  Gradually  the  tumult 
subsided,  and  was  finally  lost  in  a  dull  roar 
in  the  depths  below. 

"  Was  I  not  right  ?"  asked  the  postilion. 
"  Had  not  the  outlet  been  closed  up  against 
us,  we  should  never  have  found  it  again." 

Bianca,  in  a  silent  prayer,  returned  thanks 
to  the  Almighty  that  Louis'  hazardous 
enterprise  had  boen  frustrated. 

In  the  meantime^  the  postilion  had  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  out  the  broken  carriage- 
pole,  and,  with  Paul's  assistance,  tied  a  stick 
over  the  fracture.  Having,  in  this  manner, 
rendered  it  serviceable  in  boring  through  the 
loose  snow,  they  both  set  to  work  to  make 
an  opening  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a 
chimney-flue,  at  that  end  of  the  gallery 
which  lay  towards  the  valley.  Louis  and 
the  women  followed  them,  for  the  result  was 
of  too  much  importance  to  them  all,  to  allow 
them  to  neglect  witnessing  the  progress  of 
the  work.    The  perforation  of  this  air-hole 


1 


was  efiected  by  a  fannel-Iike  exeaVa&n, 
Paul  and  the  postilion  constantly  tumiog 
and  pushing  the  pole  with  a  narrow  circular 
motion.  In  a  few  minutes  a  considyable 
mass  of  snow  fell  down  from  the  increased 
opening. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  the  postilion,  "  we  have  had 
engineering  and  sapping  enough ;  the  roof 
has  tumbled  in."  At  the  same  time  he 
stooped  down  under  the  aperture,  crying 
out :  "  Why,  indeed,  the  moon  shines  right 
in  through  the  window!"  ;. 

Paul  brought  up  the  musket.  '■"''  . 

"  We  will  put  in  a  couple  more  good 
waddings  on  the  top,"  said  the  postilion, "  so 
that  it  may  give  a  better  sound," — pulling 
out,  at  the  same  time,  some  pieces  of  old, 
dirty  paper,  which,  after  chewing  hard  to- 
gether, he  rammed  down  very  tight.  "  Just 
so,"  he  8g.id ;  "  but  now  I  must  be  a  little 
elevated,  so  that  I  can  reach  to  push  the 
muzzle  out  into  the  air,  else  the  shot  won't 
be  heard." 

He  then,  without  ceremony,  let  himself  be 
raised  on  the  shoulders  of  Paul  and  Ijouis, 
and  fired  off  his  musket.  A  loud  report 
filled  the  vault,  which  was  as  plainly  repeat- 
ed, extending  far  and  wide  in  the  moun- 
tains. 

"  Bravo,  bravissimo  !"  cried  the  postilion, 
in  self-exultation.  "  But  now  we  must  have 
a  da-caTpo,  or  it  will  not  be  understood."  He 
loaded  and  fired  a  second  and  a  third  time. 
"  Well,"  said  he,  "  it  is  now  in  good  train, 
and  we  won't  be  forgotten." 

The  ladies,  with  Louis,  had,  in  the  mean- 
time, resumed  their  places  inside  of  the  car- 
riage, there  patiently  to  await  the  coming 
of  day.  Shortly  they  heard  the  distant  sound 
of  a  bell.  It  was  the  alarm-bell,  with  which 
the  information  that  some  person  is  in  danger 
is  conveyed  from  station  to  station.  Their 
deliverance  was  therefore  secured. 


m 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Towards  morning,  every  eye  was  closed 
slumber,  for  fatigue  had  at  last  over- 
powered all  thought  and  watchfulness.  The 
report  of  a  gun  first  interrupted  the  death- 
like silence,  and  awakened  the  travellers. 

"  That's  the  signal  of  approaching  help," 
cried  the  postilion,  who  had  taken  his  seat 
on  the  roomy  coach-box,  by  the  side  of  Paul 
— words  that  changed  Bianca's  fright  intc 
lively  joy.  "  We  must  return  a  prompt  an 
swer,"  he  added,  seizing  the  musket  to  loat' 
it.  He  then  proceeded,  accompanied  by  th( 
rest,  to  the  end  of  the  gallery,  and  firet 
through  the  opening. 


f% 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Directly  after  the  firing,  load  cries  of 
men's  voices  were  heard  close  by  the  cavern. 
Before  ten  minutes  had  passed,  men  appear- 
ed 4>efore  the  outlet  of  the  gsdlery,  so  that 
those  within  could  converse  with  them. 
They  soon  shovelled  out  an  accessible  pas- 
sage, though  the  carriage  as  yet  could  not 
be  extricated.  Thus  were  the  gates  of  this 
dismal  dungeon  finally  unbarred.  Louis 
conducted  the  lady  into  the  open  air.  With 
silent  rapture  both  greeted  once  more  the 
welcome  light  of  day.  A  deep  and  quiet 
valley  lay  open  before  them ;  but  the  sur- 
rounding heights  were  covered  with  tall  and 
slender  pines,  in  their  green  winter-dress ; 
and  far  away,  below,  was  discovered  the 
friendly  little  town  of  Brieg,  encircled  by  the 
silver  thread  of  the  Rhone,  ^nd  glowing  in 
the  midst  of  green  fields,  adorned  in  all  the 
opening  charms  of  spring. 

It  was  now  proposed  that  the  ladies  should, 
with  younff  Rosen,  go  l)efore  on  foot  to  the 
next  post-house,  two  miles  distant,  and 
there  wait  till  the  carriage  could  be  brought 
thither.  Louis  found  this  proposition  quite 
sensible.  He  gave  bis  arm  to  Bianca,  and 
accompanied  by  Margaret,  the  gouvemarUe, 
they  set  out.  In  an  hour  the  post-house 
was  reached. 

The  landlady  appeared.  The  repast  call- 
ed for  proved  a  truly  Swiss  breal{fast.  On 
the  tray  stood  a  large  cofiee-pot,  and  an- 
other with  chocolate;  fresh  butter,  honey, 
preserved  fruit,  and  pastry. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait  before  the 
carriage  arrived ;  which,  by  the  assistance 
of  the  people  who  had  cleared  the  road,  had 
been  put  in  tolerable  repair.  Bianca  still 
insisted  on  the  necessity  of  flying  ;  and  con- 
sequently bade  her  landlady  a  hasty  farewell. 

The  fugitives  now  proceeded  jn  a  smart 
trot  on  the  much  smoother  road ;  for  their 
new  postilion,  who  had  been  a  witness  of 
the  liberal  gifts  which  Paul,  in  the  name  of 
his  master,  had  bestowed  upon  the  men 
who  had  afforded  assistance,  made  his  calcu- 
lation likewise  upon  a  handsome  douceur. 
Thus  they  reached  Brieg,  in  the  Canton 
Valais. 

Arrived  at  the  inn,  Louis'  first  care  was 
to  get  the  carriage  mended.  A  smith  and  a 
wheewlright  were  sent  for ;  they  both  declar- 
ed that  at  least  four  hours  would  be  neces- 
sary to  put  it  in  travelling  order.     • 

Bianca  would  rather  have  exchanged  the 
carriage  for  another  ;  but  in- so  small  a  place, 
none  was  to  be  had.  Suspicions,  too,  might 
thereby  be  aroused,  proving  perhaps  more 
perilous  than  the  delay  itself.  They  had, 
therefore,  to  coatent  themselves  with  stimu- 
lating the  activity  of  the  mechanics  by  pro- 
mises of  liberal  payment. 

Bianca  with  Margaret  took  possession  of 


a  room  at  the  inn,  and  Lonis  took  one  ad- 
joining. Paul  remained  below  in  the  common 
guest-room,  where,  being  tired,  he  stretched 
himself  on  a  bench,  ms  strength  seemed 
nearly  exhausted ;  a  few  hours'  rest  were 
therefore,  perhaps,  necessary  in  his  case ;  for 
he  was  an  agea  as  well  as  trustworthy  ser- 
vant. 

Louis,  though  prompted  by  his  inclina- 
tion, deemed  it  improper,  if  not  impertinent, 
to  intrude  upon  the  ladies,  who  certainly  had 
need  of  repose.  Wishing  to  improve  his 
leisure,  by  recording  the  events  of  the  last 
few  hours  in  his  journal,  he  found,  to  his 
great  dismay,  that  he  had  lost  it.  He  re- 
membered distinctly  having  had  it  in  his 
possession  just  before  reaching  Brieg,  and 
consequently  must  have  lost  it  in  the  house, 
or  within  a  short  distance  of  the  town.  All 
search  in  his  room  and  inquiries  of  the  land- 
lord, having  proved  fruitless,  he  determined 
to  make  the  not  very  promising  attempt  to 
seek  for  it  on  the  road.  He  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  without  findinfr  it,  and 
went  on  his  way  up  the  high  road.  With 
rapid  strides  he  walked  on,  but  found  nothing. 
Already  had  he  given  up  all  hope,  when  he 
perceived  something  red,  shining  on  the  grass 
in  the  distance;  he  hastened  to  the  spot, 
and  there  indeed  lay  his  lost  treasure  !  He 
had  retraced  his  steps  for  some  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  behind  him.  On  looking  back, 
he  sa.^  a  horseman  approaching  full  gallop ; 
followed  by  a  carriage,  attended  by  another 
horseman,  also  coming  down  at  full  speed. 
This  sight  struck  him  as  something  singu- 
lar. But  ere  he  had  time  to  arrange  his  sur- 
mises in  his  mind,  the  foremost  rider  came 
up,  and  called  out  to  him  in  French  : 

"  Do  you  belong  to  Brieg,  sir  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Louis,  "  I  am  a  traveller, 
and  have  just  rambled  out  of  the  town." 

"  Can  you  tell  us  if  a  carriage  and  four, 
with  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman,  and  a  ser- 
vant on  the  box,  has  arrived  there  ?*' 

Louis  was  on  the  point  of  answering  No, 
when  the  post-chaise  came  up  and  stopped. 
It  contained  a  civilian  and  a  French  officer. 
The  former  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and 
repeated  the  horseman's  question.  This  gave 
Louis,  who  could  not  doubt  the  inquiries  had 
reference  to  Bii^nca,  time  to  devise  a  safe 
answer.  He  remembered  that  the  post- 
house  was  at  the  commencement  of  the 
town,  and  that  persons  in  haste  would  be 
likely  to  change  horses  there  without  going 
to  the  inn  at  all.     This  decided  his  reply. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he  quickly,  "  such  a 
carriage  arrived  some  hours  ago,  with  a  bro- 
ken a^e,  I  believe,  which,was  mended  here. 
But  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  back,  just  as 


I 


■BSWWP/- 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELTB ;  OR, 


I  left  the  town,  the  strangers  resumed  their 
journey." 

"  The  devil !''  exclaimed  the  man  in  the 
carriage :    "  Which  road  did  they  take  ?" 

"  The  only  one  they  could  take,  by  Sion 
to  Greneva,"  replied  Louis.  "  You  see  it 
yonder,  following  the  bank  of  the  Rhone." 

"  Can  we  not  cut  across  ?"  inquired  the 
traveller,  hastily. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  postilion,  answer- 
ing for  Louis  ;  "just  below  this  we  can  turn 
sharp  to  the  left ;  and  if  your  Excellencies 
are  not  afraid  to  ford  the  Rhone,  even  though 
the  water  shoald  come  into  the  carriage  a 
little,  we  avoid  the  town  altogether,  and 
save  a  good  half-hour.  If  your  Excellencies 
allow  me  to  take  that  rosul,  never  fear  but 
I  will  overtake  the  travellers.  They  must 
now  just  be  passing  through  yonder  wood, 
otherwise  we  should  see  their  carriage  on 
the  highway." 

"  Is  the  cross-road  dangerous  ?" 

'*  Not  a  bit ;  only  a  little  rough.  In  an 
hour  at  most  we  will  catch  them,  if  your 
Excellencies  will  bear  me  harmless  for  pass- 
ing the  post  station." 

"  That  will  I,"  replied  the  officer  in  the 
carriage ;  "  and  what  is  more,  you  shall 
have  the  twenty  gold  Napoleons  I  promised 
you  if  you  caught  the  fugitives  before  they 
reached  Brieg.     Now  on,  and  at  speed." 

The  carriage  dashed  forward,  the  horse- 
men galloping  on  either  side. 

Louis  stood  nearly  petrified  ;  yet  there 
was  no  choice  as  to  what  course  to  pursue. 
He  hastened  back  with  all  possible  speed  to 
notify  the  ladies.  With  greater  speed  than 
the  carriage  even,  he  reached  the  inn,  and 
presented  himself  in  Bianca's  room. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 
she  asked,  when  she  saw  how  excited  and 
heated  he  was. 

Gasping  for  breath,  he  began  to  relate 
what  had  happened. 

"  Merciful  heaven  !"  she  exclaimed,  inter- 
rupting him,  "  then  we  are  lost !  How  did 
that  man  look  ?  Had  he  not  black  hair  and 
eyes,  a  pale  countenance,  and  teeth  very 
white  ?" 

"  It  appeared  so  to  me,"  answered  Louis, 
"  but  he  was  so  muflJed  ifp  that  I  could  not 
see  his  face  distinctly,  and  I  must  confess 
that  I  did  not  bestow  any  particular  atten- 
tion on  his  looks,  the  affair  itself  put  me  in 
such  a  flutter ;  but  listen  farther."  He  then 
told  them  by  what  combination  of  circum- 
stances the  pursuers  had  been  diverted  from 
the  right  track. 

"  God  be  praised  !"  cried  Bianca,  pressing 
her  female  companion  to  her  heart  with  great 
emotion.  "  Oh !  you  are  our  guardian 
angel !"  she  said,*  kindly,  turning  around  to 
Louis  and  holding  out  her  hand.    **  But  we 


have  not  a  moment  to  lose."    On  wbloh  she 
arose,  and  rang  the  bell  eagerly  for  Paul.  -  • 

"  We  have  at  least  two  hours,"  said  Louis, 
"  before  they  will  perceive  their  error.  The 
postilion  spoke  of  it  taking^  an  hour,  and  he 
will  be  led  on  and  on  by  an  illusive  hope, 
and  perhaps  even  proceed  to  the  next  station. 
In  that  case,  they  cannot  return  before  night- 
fall, and  ere  that  time  I  will,  with  God's 
help,  find  some  way  of  escape." 

Bianca  trembled  violently ;  she  did  not 
decline  the  support  of  Louis'  arm  as  he  \oi 
her  to  a  seat 

"  God  has  so  wonderfully  protected  us," 
she  said,  more  calmly, "  that  even  now  I  put 
my  full  trust  in  Him.  You  have  a  second 
time  become  our  preserver.  Without  th^ 
accident  which  took  you  again  to  the  road-^ 
an  accident  which  otherwise  might  haw 
exposed  us  to  the  greatest  calamities — wje 
should  have  been  unavoidably  lost.  But  the 
Lord  is  gracious !"  I 

While  saying  this,  she  raised  her  eyes  t  )- 
ward  heaven,  tears  of  gratitude  and  acn  le 
suffering  commingling. 

Paul  had  entered  the  room.  Margaiet 
took  him  immediately  aside,  and  spoke  soi  le 
words  to  him  in  a  low  voice,  on  which  t  le 
old  servant  started  back,  pale  and  terrifiedl 

"  We  must  away  instantly,"  he  cried-l- 
"  there  is  no  other  course.  We  cannot  wait 
till  the  carriage  is  repaired ;  and  if  we  coulm 
it  would  be  useless,  as  we  have  no  othen 
road  to  take  but  the  one  on  which  we  must^ 
meet  our  pursuers.  There  is  nothing  re- 
mains for  us  to  do,  but  to  leave  the  town 
siifgly,  and  on  foot,  and  betake  ourselves 
straight  to  the  mountains.  Take,  therefore, 
your  most  indispensable  articles,  my  lady 
countess,  and  with  Margaret  leave  the  town 
immediately.  Follow  the  road  along  the 
valley,  up  the  Rhone,  on  its  left  bank. 
Coming  here. to-day,  I  observed  that  a  well- 
beaten  path  runs  along  the  river,  which  no 
doubt  it  follows  up  into  the  valley.  In  about 
half  an  hour  from  this  time,  wait  for  me  at 
any  safe  point  on  the  river's  bank — some 
place  where  you  can  be  hid  by  the  bushes, 
and  yet  see  the  road  to  the  town,  so  that  we 
may  not  miss  one  another.  I  will  leave  the 
house  in  an  opposite  direction ;  the  Count 
must  leave  towards  another  point  still,  so 
that  as  far  as  possible  it  may  not  be  known 
which  way  we  have  taken.  When  we  are 
all  together  again,  we  must  find  guides  to 
conduct  us  across  the  mountains,  and  per 
haps  mules  can  be  procured  to  lighten  the 
journey." 

Paul  delivered  himself  of  these  words  with 
so  much  gravity  and  force,  that  they  sounded 
almost  like  a  command.  His  counsel  was, 
however,  so  sound  and  judicious,  that  it  met 
at  once  with   implicit    obedience.     Louis 


/ 


k 


y- 


,y 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


•'■o 


Btood  astonished  at  the  cool  and  discrimi- 
nating resolution  of  the  old  man,  and  his 
clear,  concise  sentences.  He  seemed  to  im- 
part his  own  resolute  spirit  to  his  hearers  ; 
for  even  Bianca,  with  all  her  terror,  now 
exhibited  an  energy  truly  surprising.  She 
gathered  together  her  papers,  her  portfolio, 
and  some  other  trifles,  while  Margaret  picked 
up  the  most  necessary  articles  of  clothing, 
packing  some  in  a  light  work-bag,  others  in 
a  small  basket,  and  tinaliy  concealed  a  good 
many  things  in  the  high-crowned  bonnets 
used  by  herself  and  the  Countess.  In  less 
than  five  minutes  the  two  ladies  left  the 
room.  They  were  met  by  tlie  chambermaid 
in  the  passage.  Bianca  took  her  to  a  win- 
dow looking  toward  Sion,  exactly  in  an 
opposite  direction  to  that  which  she  intended 
to  take,  and  pointing  to  a  neighboring  hill, 
she  asked : 

"  How  far  may  it  be  to  the  top  of  that 
hill  ?  Do  you  think  we  can  go  there  for  a 
walk,  and  be  back  before  evening  ?" 

"  If  the  ladies  are  good  pedestrians,  it  may 
be  done  very  well ;  but  it  is  a  good  hour's 
walk,"  answered  the  girl. 

"  Then  we  won't  be  back  much  before 
dark — perhaps  later,"  said  Bianca ;  "  just  see 
that  my  room  is  put  in  good  order." 

"  Will  their  ladyships  take  supper  in  their 
room  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  three  covers  ;  but  not  till  nine 
o'clock,"  said  Bianca — after  which  she,  with 
her  companion,  hastened  down  the  stairs. 

Louis  Rosen,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  not 
idle.  Within  five  minutes  of  the  departure 
of  these  ladies,  %e  issued  forth  from  the  inn, 
and  carelessly  whistling  a  tune,  left  the 
house,  as  if  minded  to  take  a  stroll  through 
the  streets.  He  looked  back  on  his  way,  to 
ascertain  if  Paul  was  about,  but  saw  nothing 
of  him.  A  few  steps  from  the  house  he  was 
met  by  the  steward  of  the  inn.  Him  he 
charged  with  the  commission  to  Paul  to  go 
again  to  the  smith,  so  that  the  carriage  might 
be  ready  before  nightfall,  for  he  was  deter- 
mined at  all  events  to  set  out  after  supper. 


CHAPTER  V. 

With  a  beating  heart,  Louis  gained  the 
open  country,  and  now  looked  about  to  find 
how  to  reach  the  road  indicated,  without  be- 
ing observed.  The  cross-path  which  he 
Uirned  into,  lay  right  through  some  gardens, 
*ven  concealing  the  Rhone.  He  walked  on 
mpatiently,  still  finding  himself  hemmed  in 


by  fences  and  hedges.  At  last  he  came  Jo 
an  open  spot,  but  found  himself  so  far  out  on 
the  plain  that  he  was  unable  to  set  himself 
right.  Half  an  hour  had  now  elapsed  since 
Bianca  had  left  the  house ;  every  moment, 
therefore,  became  more  and  more  precious. 
He  quickened  his  steps,  therefore,  and  finally 
gained  an  eminence,  from  which  he  could  see 
the  Rhone,  What  was  his  mortification 
when  he  discovered  that  he  was  much  farther 
from  the  river  than  when  he  set  out ;  it  even 
seemed  most  advisable  to  go  straight  back 
again.  The  Rhone  just  above  Brieg  trends 
an  angle  so  acute  as  almost  to  give  it  a 
retrograde  course.  Louis,  who  had  planned 
his  route  according  to  the  original  course  of 
the  stream,  now  beheld  that  part  of  the  bank 
forming  the  rendezvous  far  away  behind 
him. 

The  most  advisable  plan  now  appeared  to 
him,  to  go  direct  towards  the  river,  and  to 
follow  its  downward  course,  in  which  case 
he  must  fall  in  with  the  wanderers.  He 
hastened  on  as  fast  as  his  powers  permitted. 
Still  a  full  half  hour  went  by  without  his 
reaching  the  margin  of  the  river  ;  for  fre- 
quent gullies,  hollows  and  marshy  places 
compelled  him  to  take  a  very  round-about 
course.  The  sun  had  already  sunk  behind 
the  lofty  wall  of  the  Alpine  ridge,  and  the 
deep  valley  of  Brieg  began  to  sink  into  the 
blue  shades  of  evening.  Now  he  heard  the 
murmur  of  the  Rhone.  He  had  a  few  rocky 
eminences,  overgrown  with  brambles  and 
blackberry-vines,  yet  to  overcome,  and  then 
he  hoped  to  find  the  river-path.  Invigorated 
by  the  thought,  he  climbed  resolutely  up- 
wards. The  eminence  was  steep  and  high 
— long,  intertwined  and  tangled  tendrils  of 
the  blackberry  covered  the  ground,  like 
snares,  and  with  their  sharp,  long  prickles 
tore  his  boots  and  wounded  his  feet.  He 
finally  conquered  these  obstacles,  and  found 
himself  on  the  summit.  Passing  quickly 
across  the  ridge,  he  prepared  for  his  descent 
on  the  other  side ;  but  he  was  suddenly 
arrested  in  his  career,  for  he  stood  on  the 
edgQ  of  a  precipice,  the  impetuous  waters 
of  the  Rhone  dashing  along  its  base.  No- 
thing was  left  but  to  turn  back,  and  follow  the 
ridge  down  the  stream.  "  He  was  unable,  to 
his  great  annoyance,  to  dissever  any  trodden 
path  ;  there  was  no  choice,  indeed,  but  to 
follow  the  river  on  the  steep  ridge  of  the 
bank,  overgrown  with  thick  bushes.  Much 
to  his  comfort,  he  soon  found  the  ground 
better,  and  suddenly  it  opened  upon  a  wide, 
well-trodden  track.  This  certainly  must  be 
the  path  which  Paul  had  spoken  of.  Louis 
pursued  it,  therefore,  with  renewed  vigor. 
Suddenly  he  discerned,  through  the  increas- 
ing dusk,  two  figures  moving  in  the  nearest 
bushes,  perhaps  at  a  hundred  paces  distant. 


18 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


They  were  women,  wearing  high  travelling 
bonnets,  and  he  saw  a  white  garment.  "  It 
is  herself!"  said  his  leaping  heart, raised  to 
delirious  joy.  As  he  came  near,  he  saw 
that  they  were  engaged  in  deep  discourse, 
their  looks  turned  upwards  to  the  snow- 
capped mountain  peaks,  which,  now  that 
the  sun  had  set,  shot  up,  cold  and  corpse- 
like,  against  the  dark  horizon.  Paul  was 
not  with  the  ladies,  and  their  demeanor  alto- 
gether denoted  perfect  indifference.  This 
troubled  Louis  considerably.  Now  they 
turned  round,  their  attention  being  aroused 
by  his  eager  approach.  Heavens  !  lie  saw 
that  he  was  entirely  deceived — they  were 
strangers ! 

There  he  stood,  paralysed ;  with  difficulty 
he  summoned  force  to  make  an  inquiry. 
One  denied  having  seen  any  person,  but  the 
other  reminded  her  that  about  an  hour  before 
they  had  observed,  at  some  distance,  in  their 
walk  through  the  valley  farther  up,  two 
ladies  in  company  with  a  man,  taking  the^ 
way  towards  the  Rhone.  Louis  hastily  re- 
turned thanks  for  the  information,  and,  happy 
in  having  obtained  some  clue,  and  to  know 
which  way  to  go,  he  turned  precipitately 
back  on  his  course  facing  the  foaming  stream. 
The  agony  of  haste  lent  him  wings.  He 
soon  regained  the  spot  from  whence  he  had 
set  out,  and  then  indefatigably  pursued  the 
river-path.  But  it  was  now  perfectly  dark 
in  this  hollow,  bordered  on  both  sides  by  the 
high  wall  of  the  Alps,  and  there  was  no 
hope  of  having  the  light  of  the  moon  for  an 
hour  to  come.  He  was  surrounded  by 
gloomy  darkness  ;  the  country  became  more 
wild  and  rugged  ;  crags  and  masses  of  rock 
still  more  steep  and  colossal  towered  over 
his  head  ;  the  pinnacles  of  the  snow-peaks 
shone  high  above  the  black  heights.  The 
Rhone  thundered  close  by  him,  its  waves 
crested  with  foam.  The  bank  now  ran  per- 
pendicular, and  soon  the  rocks  hung  threat- 
ening over  the  abyss.  Ijouis  was  aware 
that  he  stood  on  the  same  spot  he  arrived  at 
upon  first  gaining  the  stream.  The  path 
stole  along  under  the  projecting  rocks.  Per- 
haps, at  the  very  moment  that  he  had  been 
standing  there,  hearing  nothing  beside  the 
rushing  waters,  Bianca  had  passed  by  under- 
neath. The  path  became  very  laborious, 
even  dangerous,  in  that  utter  darkness*  of 
night;  for  now  it  clambered  straight  up  the 
steep,  rocky  parapet,  and  now  again  it  led 
downwards,  equally  abrupt.  Louis  almost 
rejoiced  on  account  of  these  dangers,  in  the 
hope  that  it  would  so  retard  Bianca's  pro- 
gress that  he  must  soon  overtake  her.  With 
fresh  vigor  he  pressed  onward. 

Another  hour's  exertion,  and  he  saw  a 
light  glimmering  before  him ;  a  cottage  was 
near  by,  the  first  human  habitation  he  had 


seen  on  this  road.  A  sweet  prophetic  voice 
whispered  him  that  there  would  he  find  the 
object  of  his  pursuit,  for  it  was  impossible 
for  her  tender  feet  to  have  carried  her  any 
farther.  Quickly  he  advanced  towards  the 
friendly  beacon,  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
stood  before  the  house.     He  knocked. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  was  heard,  in  a  rough, 
nasal  voice,  while  two  wooden  clogs  clatter- 
ed in  slow  measure  over  the  floor." 

"  A  traveller,  who  has  lost  his  way,"  an- 
swered Louis. 

"  Very  well,  friend  ;  I  will  open  the  door 
in  a  minute,"  was  the  reply  from  within. 

The  bolt  was  slowly  drawn,  and  an  old 
man,  with  hair  and  beard  of  silvery  white- 
ness, seen  in  the  uncertain  light  of  a  kindled 
faggot  of  pitch-pine,  stood  in  the  opening. 

"  Have  you  no  other  guests  with  you,  good 
father  ?"  asked  Louis. 

"  Not  a  soul,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  Who  should  come  to  see  a  poor  old  man  here 
in  the  wilderness  ?  I  am  not  even  afraid  of 
bad  guests,  for  nothing  is  to  be  found  here  to 
tempt  a  covetous  mind.  But,  who  may  you 
be,  dear  sir ;  and  how  came  you  this  way  so 
late  in  the  night?" 

It  required  some  moments  for  Louis,  al- 
most overwhelmed  at  the  failure  of  all  his 
hopes,  to  give  a  reply. 

"  I  lost  my  way  in  the  mountains.  I  am 
separated  from  my  companions,  concerning 
whose  fate  I  am  in  great  anxiety.  They 
wished  to  ascend  the  valley  from  Brieg — I 
followed  after,  and  without  finding  the  least 
trace  of  them  have  finally  gained  this,  the 
first  human  dwelling  in  my  way." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  old  man  ;  "  the 
main-path  in  the  valley  runs  along  the  bank 
of  the  Rhone,  but,  in  the  dark,  you  probably 
did  not  see  the  log-bridge  which  crosses  the 
water.     This  path  terminates  here." 

"  Can  you  not  put  me  in  the  right  road, 
good  father  ?"  cried  Louis,  eagerly.  "  I  will 
richly  reward  you." 

"  To-morrow  morning,  with  great  plea- 
sure," replied  the  old  man ;  "  but  to-night 
my  old,  weak  limbs  cannot  serve  me ;  for  in 
the  dark  the  track  is  dangerous,  even  to 
hunters,  who  are  acquainted  with  it." 

Louis,  tired  as  he  was,  would  gladly  have 
wandered  the  whole  night ;  but  a  look  at  the 
feeble,  trembling  old  man,  convinced  him 
that  he  would  ask  an  impossibility,  were  he 
to  persuade  him  to  follow  him  now.  He  ac- 
cepted the  hospitable  invitation  given  him  to 
pass  the  night  in  the  hut,  and  followed  the 
friendly  host  into  the  small,  narrow  room,  dim- 
ly lighted  by  the  burning  stick  of  pine  wood. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  son  is  not  at  home," 
said  the  old  man  ;  "  he  would  do  you  belter 
service.  But  he  is  gone  to  his  cousin's 
wedding,  at  Sion,  and  will  not  be  back  until 


fk  NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


to-morrow  night.    So,  you  see,  we  must 
manage  the  best  way  we  can  by  ourselves." 

"  Dear  father,"  said  Louis,  "  I  only  stand 
In  need  of  rest,  and  that  would  flee  from  me, 
«ven  had  f  here  the  most  sumptuous  coach. 
The  only  thing  inrhich  I  have  to  request  of 
you  is,  that  we  set  out  bright  aad  early  to- 
morrow." 

"  So  we  will,"  said  the  old  peasant .;  "  for 
'the  moon  rises  at  three  o'olocsk,  and  will  give 
us  light ;  but  now,  be  pleased  to  accept  of 
a  piece  of  brown  bread  and  Alp-cheese,  and 
I  can  give  you  a  drink  of  milk  alsa  This 
morning  i  had  a  drop  of  wine  left,  but,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  drank  it  myself." 

Louis  partodi  of  the  simple  meal  with 
the  old  man.  It  would  have  relished  excel- 
lently, had  not  his  heart  been  filled  with 
80  much  painful  anxiety.  But  rest  and  food 
■would  give  him  new  strength,  and  with  that 
fresh  hope  also.  The  bed,  therefore,  of  fra- 
.  grant  rtionntain-grass,  which  the  good  old 
man  had  prepared  for  him,  was  highly  wel- 
comed ;  and  he  quickly  sank  into  a  sleep, 
which,  though  disturbed  by  harassing 
•dreams,  yet  prepared  bis  body  for  the  new 
and  toilsome  waRderings  that  awaited  him. 


•CHAPTER  VI 

"It  is  time,  dear  sir;  the  moon  is  ]ust 
«ver  the  horn  of  the  Simplon,  and  shines  down 
in  the  valley.  If  you  are  in  a  hurry,  we 
ought  to  be  on  the  way." 

Louis,  yet  half-dreaming,  heard  the  old 
man's  words.  He  could  not  recollect  where 
lie  was  ;  for,  instead  of  his  eyes  being  graet- 
«d  with  the  merry  sunshine  of  Italy,  he 
opened  them  upon  an  obscure,  narrow  cham- 
Tjer,  where  the  moon  was  engaged  in  strange 
rivalry  with  the  Jurid  light  emitted  by  a 
kindled  faggot.  It  was  not  till  tTie  old  man 
reached  him  his  hand,  to  assist  him  to  gain 
an  upright  position,  and  the  full-orbed  moon 
shone  right  into  his  face  through  the  small 
casement  of  the  hut,  that  he  fully  recovered 
his  consciousness,  and  responded  to  the 
friendly  summons  by  saying  : 

"  Directly,  good  father;  I  was  half  dream- 
ing— directly."" 

With  these  words  he  sprang  up,  and  in  a 
few  moments  was  equipped  for  the  journey. 

"  Will  you  not  take  something  foi*  break- 
fast ?"asked  his  aged  host ;  "  I  have  warmed 
pome  milk.  The?  morning  air  is  sharp.  A 
warm  drink  is  always  bcHeficial,  be  it  ever 
TO  little." 


Louis  was  much  affected  with  the  simple- 
hearted  manner  of  the  old  man,  and  accepted 
the  proffered  breakfast  with  pleasure. 

The  old  man  did  not  fasten  the  door  oo 
their  departure. 

"  No  one  seeks  anything  here,"  he  said ; 
"only  at  night,  when  we  are  at  home,  we 
draw  the  bolt,  that  no  wild  beast  may  push 
its  way  in ;  for  there  are  terribly  ferocious 
wolves  in  these  mountains." 

Their  path  was  lighted  sufficiently  by  (he 
moon,  and  soon  the  day  began  to  break. 

After  having  travelled  some  two  hours,  the 
old  man  said : 

"  You  see,  sir,  there  is  the  bridge  ovsr  the 
Rhone." 

Louis  saw  at  some  distance  two  long 
trunks  of  trees,  without  railings,  placed  across 
the  stream.  He  now  recognised  the  spot  by 
some  singularly-shaped  boulders  which  had 
attracted  his  attention  before,  but  he  had  not 
observed  the  bridge  of  logs.  That  a  path 
turned  off  here,  oould  not  at  all  have  been 
discovered ;  for  as  he  came  nearer  he  found 
that  the  track  leading  to  the  bridge  turned 
off  sharp  to  the  rightit 

Louis  was  about  asking  his  conductor  if 
he  was  certain  that  the  path  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river  was  the  only  one  which  the 
wanderers  could  take,  when  an  object  fixed 
his  eye,  which  filled  him  with  joyful  surprise. 
Just  at  the  turn  leading  down  to  the  Rhone, 
he  saw  on  the  branch  of  a  tree  a  rose-colored 
ribbon  fluttering  in  the  wind.  An  exulting 
start  thrilled  through  his  frame ;  he  hastened 
to  the  bush,  and  found,  with  untold  delight, 
a  small  piece  of  Bianca's  dress  tied  to  it. 
Snatching  the  reKc  from  the  tree,  he  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket-book  for  safe  keeping.  He 
now  proceeded  on  his  way  cheerfully.  But 
on  reaching  the  other  end  of  the  log-bridge, 
which  led  them  over  the  foaming  billows  of 
the  Rhone,  the  old  man  asked  him: 

"  Whereto  shall  1  conduct  you  now,  dear 
sir?" 

"  Of  course,  along  the  valley  ;  I  thought 
there  was  only  one  way,"  answered  Louis. 

"  That  is  very  true,"  replied  the  old  man  ; 
"  but  yoH  tdd  me  yesterday  that  your  friend 
intended  to  pass  over  the  mountains  further 
into  the  Swiss  territory.  In  that  case,  we 
have  a  wide  scope  for  choosing;  for  a  good 
many  paths  take  us  across  the  Alps  into 
Upper  Bern.  The  question  is,  which  do  you 
select  ?" 

Louis  stood  still,  in  perplexity.  Suddenly 
the  thought  struck  him,  that  more  guide- 
ti>kens  would  appear. 

"  Let  us  go  on,"  he  said ;  "  only  give  me 
notice  when  we   come  to  any  branching- 
path.     I  will  then  make  up  my  mind  which 
way  to  go." 
They  soon  came  to  a  road,  practicable  for 


«p» 


2» 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OIj| 


mountain-cars  and  mules.  Louis  was  chiefly 
concerned  about  hastening  his  progress,  but 
the  old  man  could  not  increase  his  accus- 
tomed slow  pace.  Indeed,  after  a  while,,  the 
old  man  himself  said  : 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  see  very  well  how  it  i& — 
you  would  be  glad  to  get  on  faster  than  I 
am  able.  Had  you  not  better  take  a  younger 
guide  ?  We  shall  presently  reach  a  farm- 
house, where  I  am  acquainted,  and  where  1 
can  readily  procure  you  a  guide,  who  is  well 
acquainted  with  the  roadrbethto  Bern  and 
Zurich." 

Louis,  who  only  from  kindness  towards 
kis  honest  companion  had  hiiherto  refrained 
from  making  the  proposal  himself,  gladly 
closed  with  the  offer,  and  replied : 

"  It  sliall  not  be  any  the  worse  for  you, 
good  father  y  but  I  must  positively  find  my 
friends  to-day — " 

^  Look,  there  comes  my  Joseph  himself !" 
interrupted  the  old  man,  with  a  joyous  excla- 
noation,  pointing  to  a  young  man  who  ap- 
proached tiiem  on  the  road.  "  Heh  !  Seppi !" 
he  called  out  to  him,  while  yet  at  a  distance  ; 
"  wilt  thou  guide  the  gentleman?  He  wants 
ta  cross,  the  mountain." 

"  Willingly,"  answered  tha  lad,  in  hia 
roogh,  strong  voice. 

Louis  bade  the  old  man  a  hearty  farewell, 
ajad  rewarded  him  so  munificently  that  he 
b«rst  into  expressions  of  gratitude,  that  were 
Dot  likely  to  have  ceased  hadi  not  Louis  cut 
them  short  by  continuing  his  march.  His 
first  business  was  to  interrogate  his  new  con- 
doctor  upon  the  subject  of  his  missing 
friends.  But  this  time,  also,  it  was  without 
av&il,  for  Joseph  had  not  met  with  them. 

"Heh,  sir,"'  said  the  boy,  in  his  replies, 
•*  It  is,  indeed;  a  hard  matter  to  search  for 
somebody,  when  we  do  not  know  which  way 
he  is  gone  j  for  here  we  may  take  a  good 
many  different  paths.  If  we  go  over  the 
mountains  by  Naters,  there  below,  we  can 
pass  by  the  '  Jungfrau,'  into  the  upper  coun- 
try. That  would  be  the  nearest  way  to  Bern  : 
but  it  is,  af  this  season,  too  dangerous,  and,  1 
don't  believe  that  any  one  of  the  chamois 
hunters  would  easily  undertake  it.  By 
Wesch,  about  three  hours'  walk  farther  up. 
a  path  leads  over  the  crest  of  the  mounta/in. 
We  would-  then  leave  the  '  Jungfrau'  to  the 
left ;  and  might,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  get 
to  Grindelvvald.  But  this,  also,  is  a  road 
which  may  be  travelled  in  summer  time,  but 
not  now.  There  is  another  road,  up  the 
Maienwand  to  the  Girimsel, — or,  if  we  would 
positively  keep  in  the  valley  of  the  Rhone, 
we  would  have  to  cross  the  Furka  to  Realp 
Hospital,  and  then  down  the  St.  Gothard's 
road.  These  are  tire  four  principal  roads  ; 
but  any  one  who  is  fond  of  clambering  and 
climbing — of  straying  ajbcut,aad  does   not 


mind  going  a  round-about  way,  may  taRe  « 
great  many  other  smaller  paths.  But,  we 
coimtry-peoplc  are  not  acquainted  with  these 
c?eep-holes  and  by-ways.  To  travel  these, 
a  smart  hunter  of  the  mountains  is  necessa- 
ry ;  one  who  roams  about  among  them,  by 
day  and  by  night.  Now,  in  the  spring  of  the 
year,  dear  sir,  when  the  enow  is  yet  very 
deep,  and  avalanches  are  freqi»ent,  no  one 
ventures  through  these  paths.  I  therefore 
believe,  Uiat  your  friends  have  taken  the 
road  either  over  the  Grimsd,  or  across  the 
Eurka  ;  ajid  if  they're  in  baste,  the  last-men- 
tioned is  the  best — for  it  brings  one  quickest 
on  the  high-road  to  Altorf,  and  then,  by  way 
of  Brunnea  and  Zug  to  Zurich.  There  is 
hardly  any  nearer  way  to  go  to  Germany. 
The  others  are  more  direct,  it  is  true  ;  but 
are  not,  therefoVe,  the  nearest,  because  they 
are  so  dangerous.^  And  sheuW  we  be  over- 
taken by  bad  v/eather,  wo- might  have  to  lay 
by  for  a  week  in  the  mountains. 

Louis  listened  to  this  not  very  cheering- 
description:.  He  determined  to  proceed  up 
the  valley,  as  far  as  Maienwaad,  at  the  same 
time  having  every  ty-path  pointed  out  to- 
him,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  Bianca 
had  not  left  some  other  token  behind  her. 

In  a  short  time  they  arrived  at  the  little 
place  called  Naters,  where,  in  all  likelihood, 
Bianca  had  passed  the  night.  Louis  made 
strict  enquiries,  but  no  one  could  give  him 
the  slightest  intelligence.  As  they  came  out 
of  the  hamlet  to  the  spot  where  the  path 
branched  off  intt)  the  mountains,  he  looked 
around,  in  "vain,  for  some  fluttering  signal — 
not  a  trace  of  which  was  to  be  seen* 

It  was  yet  early  forenoon  when  he  arriv- 
ed over  Morill  at  Weseh,  where  he  allowed 
himself  barely  time   for  refreshment.     He 
continued  his  route,  under  increasing  anxiety 
and  sorrow.    The  last  inhabited  place  whicb 
he    found,    was  UrHchea.     It    was   three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  arrived 
there.   Twelve  hours  had  he  now  been  wan- 
dering, and  the  road  had  often  been  very  dif- 
ficult and  toilsome.    If  seemed  to  him  incom- 
prehensible that  he  had  discovered  no  trace 
of  Biaaca.     Even  by    using  the    greatest , 
speed,  she  could  hardly  have  proceeded  any 
farther.     Yes",  even  snpposiaw  that  slie  had- 
continued   her  flight  through  the  night,  she 
raust  have  made  the  Is^tter  part  of  the  way 
in  broad  daylight,  when  the  appearance  of 
lady  travellers  at  so  early  a  season  of  the 
year  must  excite  much  attention,  and  could . 
by  no  maans  have  passed  unnoticed.     Louis 
almost   began  to  apprehend,  that  in  order  to- 
escape  the  steps  of  her  pursuer,  she  had  ven- 
tured to  choose  one  of  the  more  dangerous^ 
paths  of  the  mountains  ;  and  he  had  tlius  to 
combat,  not  only  the  pain  of  separation,  but 
the  fears  arising  fi-om  the  many  dangers  to> 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


91 


which  she  might  be  exposed.  His  last  and 
only  hope  now  was,  that  on  coming  to  the 
Alaienvvand,  wliere  the  steep  path  winds  up 
to  the  Hospice  on  the  Grimsel,  he  would  find- 
some  token  awaiting  him,  inviting  him  to  take 
that  road,  or  else  to  continue  the  other  over 
the  Gothard.  His  exhausted  powers,  how- 
ever, did  not  allow  him  to  pursue  his  journey 
on  foot ;  he  commissioned  Josepli,  therefore, 
to  hire  two  mules,  the  youth  having  already 
informed  him  that  these  were  to  be  had  in  the 
place.  After  half  an  hour^s  delay,  Joseph 
appeared  with  two  well-saddled  mules,  and  a 
muleteer  also — for  Louis  did  not  wish  to  part 
with  his  cheerful  companion.  They  mount- 
ed their  beasts,  and  continued  the  journey. 
The  Maienwand  was  soon  reached.  Louis 
gazed  at  every  shrub,  every  tree  and  bush, 
with  the  most  anxious  solicitude ;  but  no 
rosy  tint  revealed  itself  a-mong  the,  as  yet, 
•closed  petals  and  buds  of  the  shrubs  in  his 
way. 

It  was  now  plain  that  if  Bianca  were  yet 
in  advance,  she  must  have  taken  the  road 
over  the  Gothard.  Louis  now  entered  upon 
the  lonely  wilderness ; — only  a  few  shep- 
ierds'  huts,  or  cabins,  now  abandoned,  were 
to  be  seen  throughout  the  snew-covered  val- 
Jey.  At  the  left  of  the  wanderers  towered 
the  glaciers  of  the  Rhone,  glittering  in  the 
sunshine  with  a  thousand  variegations.  On 
their  right  arose  immense  walls  of  rock  ;  and 
before  them  the  two  snow-pyramids  of  the 
Purka  lifted  their  heads  in  the  pure  airy  re- 
gions of  blue  ether.  This  valley  may  be 
•compared  to  the  portals  of  an  eternally 
frozen,  glittering  winter-palace,  on  whose 
diamond  pavement  no  green  blade  ever 
springs,  and  where  the  warm  sun-beam  is 
shivered  into  its  seven  chilly  colors  of  re- 
iractiou. 

Silently  following  his  guide,  Louis  rode 
-on.  As  they  reached  the  liigh  snowy  defile, 
•through  which  the  road  is  pointed  out  by 
Jong  poles,  as  land-marks,  stuck  into  the  i 
anow — and  as  they  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
freezing  cold,  at  the  foot  of  the  two  high  and 
sharp  conical  i\jcks,  between  which  the  fa- 
mous road  is  formed,  Louis  turned  to  look 
>back  once  more.  The  sun  had  already  inclin- 
ed towards  the  mountains,  throwing  his  beams 
alone  on  the  blue  misty  heights. 

"  Let  us  haste,"  said  Louis  to  the  mule- 
teer, wheeling  about  his  animal. 

"  Yes,  and  we  must  be  smart,  too,"  an- 
swered the  lad,  "  if  we  would  reach  Ander 
.Matt  before  night-fall.     It  is  very  possible 
that  we  may  have  to  take  up  quarters  with 
the  Capuchins  in  Realp." 

At  an  early  hour  they  were  in  Realp, 
where  they  stopped  a  few  minutes  with  the 
Capuchins,  who  live  in  a  small  hut,  and  by 
whom  thej  were  hospitably  entertained  with 


bread,  honey,  milk,  cheese,  and  wine.  "This 
hospitality  is  be^owed  gratuitously ;  what 
the  traveller  chooses  to  pay,  is  his  voluntary 
gift;  and  the  worthy  pater,  who  spends  his 
da.ys  in  this  unbroken  solitude,  receives  it  ia 
the  name  of  the  convent,  as  a  donation  to 
the  poor.  On  Louis'  enquiries  after  Bianca, 
he  was  informed  that  on  the  17lh  of  Octo- 
ber, the  last  traveller  had  passed  this  way,  in 
confirmation  of  which,  the  monk  placed  be- 
fore himthe^'Stranger's  Register"  of  the  last 
year.  Thus  was  the  last  hope  of  the  young 
man  broken.  He  drew  a  deep  sigh — strove 
painfully  to  suppress  his  rising  tears,  and 
arose  to  go. 

"Our  Heavenly  Father  comfort  and  bless 
you,"  said  the  monk ;  "you  appear  to  be  in 
trouble  !"  With  that,  he  kindly  held  out  his 
hand  :  Louis  pressed  it  in  silence,  and  hastily 
left  the  narrow  cell. 

Buried  in  thought,  Louis  rode  on.  They 
were  now  in  the  lonely  valley  called  Urser, 
on  the  summit  of  the  Gothard,  which,  ia 
summer,  resembles  a  green  meadow-brook, 
flowing  between  banks  of  snow,  but  now 
was  arrayed  as  for  burial  in  the  white  shroud 
of  stern  winter. 

'Gradually  it  grew  darker.  There  arose 
a  keen  and  violent  wind,  tossing  the  snow- 
flakes  high  in  mid-air  The  cold  increased. 
Louis  now  began  sensibly  to  feel  the  effects 
of  fatigue  ;  the  body  claimed  its  repose.  He 
observed,  with  a  kind  of  self-reproach  and 
vexation,  that  the  attainment  of  a  shelter  and 
a  comfortable  bed  had  insensibly  become  an 
object  of  ardent  desire. 

From  time  to  time  a  glimpse  of  light, 
proceeding  from  the  windows  of  some  dwell- 
ing, giiided  them  like  a  twinkling  star 
through  the  chilly  mist,  which  sunk  down 
upon -the  valley.  At  length  they  reached 
houses,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  they 
came  to  a  halt  before  an  imposing  looking 
building,  the  lower  story  of  which  was  en- 
tirely illuminated. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

"  Gob  be  praised,"  exclaimed  Joseph, 
"  that  we  are  here  at  last !  It  was  no  trifle 
of  a  day's-work.  I  am  none  of  the  weakest, 
but  we  have  travelled  a  good  piece  of  road 
to-day  !" 

The  muleteer  assisted  Louis  to  dismount. 
An  officious  waiter  had  already  hastened  to 
offer  the  same  service,  and  invite  him  into  the 
comfortable,  well-warmed  guest-room,  where 
other  travellers,  also  just  arrived^  were  -sit- 
ting at  supper.. 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED*  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


To  find  himself  suddenly  within  a  com- 
fortable room,  to  join  once  more  hi  the  cheer- 
ful circle  of  social  life,  produced  in  Louis' 
breast  the  liveliest  impressions.  He  looked 
about,  and  saw  a  comfortable  apartment, 
along  which  was  laid  out  a  well-furnished 
table,  whereon  a  number  of  wax-lights  were 
burning.  At  the  upper  end  of  it,  next  to 
the  stove,  sat  three  travellers,  to  whom  sup- 
per had  just  been  served. 

' '  The  gentlemen  are  already  at  table," 
said  the  butler.  "  Will  you  please,  sir,  to 
sit  down  and  partake  with  them,  or  do  you 
wish  to  retire  to  a  room  first  ?.^' 

Louis,  having  no.  dressing-case  or  other 
matters  to  embairass  him,  drew  near  to  the 
strangers,  and  bowed  t©  them  as  he  was 
about  taking  a  place  at  the  table.  They  re- 
turned his  salute  with  so  much  courtesy 
that  he  felt  himself  quite  agreeably  impress- 
ed. He  bestowed  a  closer  scrutiny  on  the 
guests.  From  their  dress  and  bronzed  coun- 
tenances they  seemed  to  be  militaires ;  they 
had  addressed  him  in  French,  but  something 
which  he  observed  in  their  manners  seemed 
to  betray  another  nation.  Two  of  them,, 
the  elder  perhaps  thirty-six,  and  the  yeunger 
about  twenty,  possessed  short  black  hair  and 
black  v/hiskep»;  the  third,  light  hair,  falling 
in  curls,  and  a  florid  complexion.  Louis 
sat  down,  and,  mastering  his  dejection,  en- 
deavored to  reciprocate  the  frank  civility  of 
the  strangers. 

"  May  I  ask  if  yoU'  are  from  Italy,  gentle- 
men, or  are  you  on  your  way  thither  ?•"  he 
politely  inquired. 

"Our  way,"  answered  the  ddest,  whose 
large  figure  and  noble  countenance  gave 
him  a  most  commanding  appearance,  "  our 
way  will  probably  lead  us  far  to  the  north  ; 
but  we  shall  previously  visit  Germany — go 
to  Dresden,  where  the  Emperor  of  the  French 
is  expected  about  this  time." 

"  It  seems,  then,  that  the  wap  is  certain  ?" 
Louis  remarked. 

"  We  hope  so,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  tone 
that  expressed  something  beyond  the  com- 
mon pleasure  of  a  soldier. 

Louis  kept  silence.  It  grieved  his  Ger- 
man heart  to  hear  of  his  country  being  again 
everrun  by  hordes  of  foreign  soldiers  •,  and 
yet  the  irresistible  verdict  of  truth  told  him 
that  Gterraany  had  merited  her  degrading 
position,  and  that  however  galliHg  the  stran- 
ger's yoke  might  be — however  grievous  to 
be  necessitated,  implicitly  and  uncondition- 
ally, to  join  the  conqueror  and  subserve  his 
schemes  of  colossal  ambition,  yet  was  it  far 
more  honorable  to  the  people  than  being 
Blade  a  prey  to  the  disgraceful,  wretehed, 
and  selfish  policy  by  which,  and*  espeaially  i 
since  the  death  of  the  great  Frederic,  for  a  [ 
century  Germany  had    been  so  shamefully  i 


oppressed  by  her  own  princes.  The  three 
words  of  the  stranger,  "  We  hope  so,"  so 
powerfully  awakened  the  contest  within  his 
own  breast,  and  portrayed  the  truth  in  such 
vivid  colorings,  that  the  painful  apprehen- 
sions which  occupied  his  mind  were  mo- 
mentarily expelled. 

The  stranger  seemed  to  penetrate  the- 
emotion  by  which  Louis  was  agitated.  Af<^ 
ter  a  few  monaents'  silence  he  answered  with 
dignity,  and  in  the  German  language  :  "  You 
are  surprised,  sir,  to  hear  me  say  of  what», 
in  all  probability,  will  prove  a  desolating 
and  cruel  war,  'We  hope  so.'  It  affects 
you  the  more  from  your  being  a  German. 
By  a  long  sojourn,  we  have  become  half 
Giermanized  ourselves.  Permit  us,  therefore, 
to  use  the  language  of  your  country.  Per- 
haps to  you  it  appears  criminal  that  ve  long 
for  a  change  in  the  affairs  of  the  world  ta 
which  one-half  of  Europe  looks  with  appre- 
hension and  sorrow.  It  is,  indeed,  a  hard 
fate,  tc  be  placed  in  a  situation  where  one 
can  hope  to  preserve  one^s  most  precious 
blessings  only  through  a  great  and  universal 
calamity  ;  but  we  find  ourselves  preeisely  in 
such  an  extremity." 

He  paused  a  moment,  a»  if  Tendered  silent 
by  emotion^  His  noble  features  seemed  to< 
reflect  the  lofty  melancholy  of  his  soul ;  a 
dark  cloud  of  brooding  anxiety  settled  on 
his  brow ;  he  gazed  vacantly,  like  one  in  a 
dream,  and  as  though  the  grave  and  weighty 
reflections  which  pervaded  his  agitated  bo- 
6om  were  far  removed  from  the  exterior 
world  around  bim. 

An  indescribable  feeling  kindled  in  Louis* 
breast ;  he  ventured  not  to  break  the  solemtt 
stillaess.  The  two  younger  companions  of 
the  stranger  also  kept  silence,  their  mourn- 
ful looks  fixed  on  his  countenance. 

"  We  are  Poles,  sir,"  he  said  after  a  long 
pause.  We  hope  thai  the  coming  struggle 
will  procure  us  a  country — a  home ;  for  now 
we  are  exilep,  roaming  about,  houseless  and 
forsaken.  You  wiJl  now  understand  why  I 
dared  to  say,  '  We  hope  far  war  !* " 

Louis  became  so  disturbed  that  he  knew 
not  what  to  reply ;  the  stranger  saved  hin» 
the  trouble,  by  taking  up  the  filled  wine-glas» 
beside  his  pkte,  saying,  "  '  Our  Country !' 
Every  brave  man  must  driak  this  toast,  be  hia 
nation  what  it  may." 

Louis  tourited  the  glass  with  his  own  ; 
the  rest  joined  in  the  sentiment. 

Apparently  in  dispatching  this  glass  of 
wine,  the  stranger  bad  also  dismissed  his 
sombre  mood.  "  We  are  travellers,"  he  said/ 
"  who  in  extraordinary  times  have  met  in  a» 
extraordinary  place.  In  the  rocky  dells  and 
caverns  of  the  St.  Grothard,  spring  up  the 
fountains  which  send  forth  their  streams  tc 
the  four  quarters  of  Europe — into  Germaay 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


33 


into  France,  into  Italy.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  roads  of  these  countries  centre  at  this 
point,  and  intertwine  with,  each  other  in  a 
mutual  bond.  We  stand,  as  it  were,  on  the 
cross-roads  of  the  Continent.  To-morrow, 
one  follows  the  Rhine  or  the  Reuss,  another 
the  Tessino,  and  a  third  the  Rhone.  The 
moment  of  union  should  be  enjoyed-^laid  up 
in  sweet  and  joyful  memorial ;  for  who  can 
tell  if  we  may  ever  meet  again  ?  We 
three,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Louis,  "know 
each  other  ;  we  are  countrymen  and  fellow- 
soldiers.  You  will  remain  a  stranger  to  us, 
and  we  to  you,  if  we  do  not  allow  a  frank 
confidence  to  rule  the  hour;  a  happy  hour, 
which,  perhaps,  all  of  us  would  hereafter 
gladly  look  back  upon.  I  propose,  therefore, 
that  we  exchange  names.  Mine  is  Stephen 
Rasinski ;  I  am  a  colonel  in  the  army  of  the 
Emperor  ;  these  gentlemen,  my  young  friends 
and  comrades,  are  officers  in  the  same  regi- 
ment, Count  Boleslaus,  and  Count  Jaromir  ; 
and  you,  sir  ?" 

''  My  name  is  Louis  Rosen ;  I  am  a  Ger- 
man," replied  Louis. 

"  Welcome,  then  !  Rosen  is  a  pretty 
name.  Happy  he  for  whom  roses  bloom, 
even  if  they  were  only  Alp  roses.  That  time 
is  gone  by  with  me ;  for  when  close  upon 
forty,  one  dares  no  longer  think  on  blossoms, 
and  may  at  the  best  expect  nothing  but  a 
little  late  fruit.  Well,  1  have  seen  blossoms 
also,  and  have  seen  them  droop  and  die! 
Here's  to  the  development  of  those  blossoms 
— youth  !  hope  !  love  I  Come,  my  young 
friends,  this  toast  concerns  you,  more  than 


me 


I" 


should  do  on  the  coming  day.  Should  he  go 
forward,  or  return  ?  Should  he  attempt  to 
search  for  Bianca  on  another  road,  or  should 
he  pursue  the  nearest  route  into  Germany  ? 
It  had  not  escaped  his  observation  that  the 
Poles  were  bound  for  the  same  point  with 
himself;  and  in  the  first  moment,  he  came 
near  betraying  his  satisfaction ;  but  now  he 
was  glad  that  he  had  restrained  himself  and 
kept  silence  ;  for  by  such  a  companionship, 
he  might  deprive  himself  of  the  liberty  of 
pursuing  his  search.  He  determined,  there- 
fore, to  part  as  soon  as  possible  with  his  new 
acquaintances,  and  without  disclosing  too 
much  of  his  object. 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts,  he  finally 
fell  sound  asleep. 


Louis  responded  to  the  call  with  peculiar 
emotion.  Rasinski's  toast  affected  his  heart 
painfully,  while  it  called  forth  a  faint  ray  of 
nope. 

The  conversation  was  continued  on  other 
subjects.  Count  Rasinski  seemed  designedly 
to  avoid  a  return  to  the  grave  subjects  which 
he  had  at  first  introduced,  and  the  young 
officers  paid  a  modest  deference  to  his  wish. 
They  talked  about  Italy,  about  Paris,  of  the 
talents  of  Napoleon  as  a  general  and  a  states- 
man— of  his  march  over  the  great  St.  Ber- 
nard, which  was  so  near  them — of  the  gi- 
gantic preparations  for  the  impending  war — 
of  the  bold  plans  of  his  active  mind,  gener- 
ally, which  led  the  French  standards  from 
the  pyramids  to  the  Tagus,  from  tJie  Tagus 
to  the  snow-fields  of  Russia  ;  in  short,  they 
spoke  of  every  thing  which  then  riveted  the 
attention  of  every  thinking  mind  in  Europe. 

An  hour  passed  thus  impesceptibly  ;  sup- 
per ended,  and  every  one  sought  repose. 

Excited  b|  his  tumultuous  thoughts  and 
feelings,  Louis,  notwithstanding  the  great 
fatigues  of  the  day,  could  not  at  once  go  to 
sleep,  but  lay  thinking  on   his  bed  what  he 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

It  was  broad  day  when  Louis  was  awak- 
ened by  a  slight  knocking  at  his  door.  On 
saying  "  Come  in,"  the  youngest  of  the  three 
officers,  the  blond-haired  Count  Jaromir,  made 
his  entree. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "that  I  disturb 
you  thus  early ;  but  it  would  afford  us  all 
so  much  pleasure  to  travel  in  your  company 
that  I  have  been  commissioned  by  my  com- 
rades to  ask  you  about  it ;  a  task  which  I 
cheerfully  fulfil." 

Louis  apologised  for  his  drowsiness  and 
promised  to  rise  immediately  and  join  them 
in  the  breakfast-room.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
did  so.  The  officers  greeted  liim  cordially. 
Rasinsky  declared  that  they  could  not  pos- 
sibly make  up  their  minds  to  set  out  before 
him,  and  leave  him  to  go  through  the  famous 
St.  Gothard  alone. 

"Two  persons,"  said  he,  "who  once  cross 
together  the  Devil's  bridge,  should  become, 
through  recollection  of  the  f^at,  linked  to- 
gether for  life." 

»  Louis  acknowledged  the  trutli  of  this, 
thanked  the  count  very  warmly,  and  accept- 
ed his  offer. 

Mules  were  saddled  ;  the  guides  stood  in 
readiness.  The  travellers  from  the  excellent 
inn  of  "  The  Three  Kings,"  at  Ander  Matt, 
rode  down  the  valley  towards  its  blackened 
gates.  As  on  the  Simplon,  here  opened  a 
gloomy  cavern,  called  the  loch  of  Urn ; 
as  there,  the  river  rushes  close  by;  a^ there, 
light  was  momentarily  admitted  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  cavern  through  a  large  oval 
grating  ;  and  the  Reuss,  like  a  white  ghost, 
was  seen  tossing  and  foaming  on  its  course. 
The  tumult  of  the  stream  deafdued  every  ear. 
I  The  cleft  opened,  and  there  they  stood  in  the 


24 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


narrow  passage,  enclosed  by  towering  rocks, 
wh^re  the  raging  Reuss  plunges  headlong 
into  the  abyss,  threatening  to  demolish  every 
barrier,  even  the  boundaries  of  its  own  banks. 
Across  this  seething  cauldron,  the  narrow 
bridge  is  thrown,  and  with  such  dexterous 
boldness,  that  the  old  legend  seems  quite  in 
its  place,  vvhich  says : 

"  It  was  not  built  bv  human  hand, 
For  none  would  dare." 

The  bridge  creaks  and  trembles  as  the 
travellers  pass.  Count  Rasinsky  halted  a 
moment,  looked  up  into  the  rocky  cleft  above 
him,  and  then  into  the  foaming  chasm  beiow. 
He  wishes  to  speak,  but  the  noise  of  tlje 
tumbling  waters  deaden  all  human  souncj. 
And  yet  there  reigns  here  the  sombre  feeling 
of  an  eternal  solitude ;  for  no  bird  flits,  no 
insect  creeps,  no  grass,  no  poor  tiny  spire  of 
moss  is  seen :  naked  and  immoveable  masses 
of  granite  alone  rise  steep  and  rugged  into 
the  blue  heavens. 

For  the  space  of  an  hour  they  rode  over 
the  so-called  '•  Schullenen,"  on  broad  flags 
of  stone,  smooth  and  bare.  Over  the  nearest 
huge  and  broken  rocks  towered  the  snow- 
covered  peaks  of  the  Alps,  now  shrouded  in 
a  grey  mantle  of  clouds.  Had  it  been  less 
early  in  the  season,  the  valley  would  have 
been  more  cheerful.  As  it  was,  winter  held 
here  a  much  more  rigorous  sway,  than  on 
theSimplon,  the  snow  covering  the  tops  of 
the  rocks,  and  even  the  topmost  boughs  of  the 
black  fir-trees,  which  gradually  became  more 
frequent.  By  and  by  the  eminences  became 
clothed  with  under-wood,  and  a  few  blades 
of  grass  might  be  here  and  there  discovered, 
peeping  forth  from  their  slight  covering  of 
snow. 

At  an  early  hour  they  arrived  at  the  vil- 
lage of  Amsteg,  where  the  Schiichenthal, 
among  rugged  clefts  and  crags,  branches  off 
from  the  valley  of  the  Reuss.  Here  the 
travellers  took  breakfast,  and  then  continued 
their  road  to  Altorf,  winding  through  broad 
green  valleys  and  fresh  meadows  :  the  Reuss 
here  changes  its  character  to  the  gentlest 
and  most  peaceful  of  streams. 

Louis'  companions  expressed  a  wish  lo 
take  to  the  water  on  the  lake  of  Vierwald- 
Btatten,  and  hastened  on,  therefore,  so  as  to 
reach  Fluellen,  and  from  thence,  if  possible. 
Lucerne  before  night.  But  as  the  last 
hope  which  Louis  cherished  of  finding  Bi- 
anca  was  on  the  nearest  high-road  to  Ger- 
many, he  resolved  to  pursue  his  journey  over 
Zurich*  to  SchafThausen. 

They  bid  each  other  a  cordial  farewell, 
promising  themselves  a  happy  meeting  in 
Dresden. 

It  was  nd  without  grief  that  Louis  saw 
his  newly  acquired  friends\depart ;  for  it  was 


quite  uncertain  whether  he  would  find  them 
again.     The  war  drove  everything  before  it. 

There  happened  to  be  a  pedlar  at  the 
tavern,  in  Altorf,  tvho,  with  his  empty  wagon, 
was  about  returning  to  Zurich.  Louis  now 
dismissed  Joseph,  secured  a  seat,  and  set  out 
immediately.  Without  accident,  he  arrived 
in  Zug  late  at  night,  and  by  noon  of  the 
following  day,  having  passed  over  the  Alphis, 
reached  Zurich.  This  was  a  point  which 
Bianca  must  touch.  He  had  arrived  with  so 
little  delay,  that  he  could  not  doubt  having 
gained  Zurich  before  her.  He  resolved, 
therefore,  to  rest  this  and  the  following  day, 
and,  meantime,  piT&h  his  enquiries.  He  did 
so  ;  but  in  vain.  He  even  allowed  himself  a 
third  day.  When  even  this  last  brought  no 
trace,  he  was  compelled  to  set  out.  A  few 
days  brought  him  to  Heidelberg  overSchaff"- 
hausen  and  Freiburg. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  early  days  of  May 
that  Louis  Rosen  entered  the  charming  city 
where  'he  had  spent  so  many  happy  liours. 
He  trod  again  its  streets, — but  in  sorrow. 
His  College-friends  had  left  the  place  at  the 
same  time  with  himself.  A  single  year  had 
taken  to  flight,  and  within  that  short  space, 
what  a  change ! 

Sorrowful  and  disturbed,  Louis  resolved  to 
pursue  at  once  his  route  home.  He  enter- 
ed a  well-known  saloon,  for  dinner,  where  he 
found  the  guests,  a  few  strangers,  and  some 
unmarried  professors,  belonging  to  the  Uni- 
versity of  Heidelberg.  One  of  them  held  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand — from  wliich  he 
seemed  to  impart  to  the  company  some  im- 
portant intelligence,  about  the  approaching 
campaign. 

"  What  news,  sir  ?"  asked  Louis,  without 
feeling  any  particular  interest  in  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  As  far  as  the  war  is  concerned,  nothing 
definite,  yet,"  answered  one  who  sat  near  his 
elbow.  "Marching  of  troops — notices  of 
the  arrival  and  departure  of  Generals — long 
accounts  of  the  great  preparations  of  the 
French  emperor ;  in  short,  everything  we 
have  heard  repeated  every  day,  for  weeks 
past.  But  just  read  this  advertisement  j  it 
is,  just  now,  tlip  topic  of  our  conversation." 

Louis  threw  an  indifferent  look  on  the  pa- 
per ;  but,  scarcely  had  he  glanced  over  the 
first  lines,  than  he  became  strangely  agi- 
tated. 

The  words  wliich  had  excited  the  wonder 
and  curiosity  of  the  company,  and  which 
roused  so  violent  a  commotion  in  Louis' 
breast,  ran  thus : 

"  To   THE    UNKNOWN   FrIEND  ! 

"  Imperishable  thanks  to  kim,  who  be- 
came a  preserver  in  most  immment  peril — 
who  hailed  the  stranger  as  a  sisler — who 
guided  and  protected  her,  with  the  fidelity  of 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


25 


a  brother !  If  voluntarily  he  tore  asunder 
those  bonds,  as  suddenly  as  a  higher  power 
had  formed  them,  let  him  know  that  his  name 
is  still  respected;  that  mournful  gratitude 
alone  fills  the  heart.  Should  the  inscrutable 
changes  of  human  events  ever  bring  him 
again  into  the  path  of  the  now  far  distant 
mourner,  he  shall  find  a  true  sister,  who 
gladly  will  offer  him  any  sacrifice,  because 
she  has  to  thank  him  for  all  I"  ' 

«  B ." 

"  Well,  what  say  you  to  that  ?"  asked  the 
man,  of  Louis,  whose  eyes  seemed  riveted 
upon  the  precious  lines. 

"  Singular,  indeed  !  very  singular  !"  he 
answered  hastily,  endeavoring  to  quell  his 
emotion.  "  I  find  the  letter  so  touching,"  he 
continued,  with  a  forced  smile,  "  it  awakens 
a  thousand  conjectures.  But,  I  always  was 
a  romantic  dreamer !" 


CHAPTER  IX. 


••Well,  now,  dear  mother,  everything  is  in 
order,"  said  Mary,  her  eyes  glistening  with 
joy,  and  a  quiet  smile  playing  on  her  mild 
countenance,  as  she  entered  the  room,  and 
laid  a  key  on  the  table,  by  which  her  mother 
sat  sewing.  "  Now,  he  may  come  any  mo- 
ment he  likes  ;  he  will  find  everything  ready 
for  him." 

"  Have  you  put  the  books  into  the  book- 
case, too  ?"  asked  the  mother. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  the  least  thing,"  re- 
plied Mary ;  "  and  if  he  is  still  the  same 
brother — if  his  tastes  have  not  entirely 
changed — he  will  certainly  be  pleased  with 
his  room.  Everything  has  happened  so  luck- 
ily ; — that  we  should  directly  find  a  house, 
where  there  is  room  for  all  of  us,  and  which 
so  well  answers  our  wants  !  But  I  can  hard- 
ly wait  for  the  hour  when  he  will  arrive : 
my  heart  has  such  a  longing  to  beat 
against  his  true,  honest  breast !  But,  dear 
mother,  you  do  not  seem  to  be  glad  enough  ! 
Have  you  any  trouble  ?  any  doubt  ?" 

On  saying  this,  Mary  tenderly  put  her  arm 
round  her  mother's  neck.  The  mother  look- 
ed, with  emotion,  into  the  face  of  her  daugh- 
ter, radiant  with  gladdening  hope  ;  and  press- 
ing her  tenderly  to  her  bosom,  said  : 

"  None  Mary,  none  but  those  which  al- 
ways fill  a  mother's  breast.  We  have  not 
seen  Louis  now  for  two  years.  He  has  been 
far  around  in  the  world, — has  seen  it  in  its 
most  dazzling  aspects  :  will  his  heart,  always 
proud  and  fiery,  be  content  with  our  domestic 
condition  ?  Will  he  look  upon  the  path 
which  lies  before  him,  with  a  cheerful  eye  ? 


If  you  do  not  behold  one  feelmg  the  unalloy- 
ed pleasure  you  experience  yourself,  do  not 
attribute  it  to  lack  of  affection,  but  to  a  feel- 
ing more  deep,  and,  therefore,  more  anxious. 
Because  thy  own  young  and  untutored  heart 
knows  no  other  world  than  our  narrow  circle, 
and  the  few  friends  with  whom  we  are  inti- 
mate ;  because  the  entire  sphere  of  thy 
wishes  is  confined  within  the  limits  of  easily 
attained  objects — dost  think  Louis  will  feel 
satisfied  here,  at  home  ?  Thou  thinkest  his 
chamber  charming,  because  the  windows  look 
out  upon  the  Elbe  and  his  bed-room  lies  To- 
ward our  little  garden  ;  but  do  not  forget,  that 
at  Heidelberg,  he  had  the  Neckar  flowing 
under  his  windows,  and  saw  the  proud  castle 
opposite  reflect  its  shadow  in  the  limpid  wa- 
ters :  and  remember,  too,  that  he  comes  from 
Switzerland  and  Italy  !  As  beautiful  as  our 
scenery  may  appear,  it  will  be  insipid  and  dull 
to  him.  Much  more,  when  looking  upon, 
his  future  prospects  in"  life,  he  discovers  that 
he  is  ever  to  move  in  these  shackles,  think- 
est thou  that  he  will  feel  happy  ?" 

"  Oh  !  certainly  he  will,  dear  mother,"  an- 
swered Mary.  "  His  heart  is  always  so  good, 
benevolent ;  he  always  so  dearly  loved 


so 

the  quiet  pleasures  of  our  little  circle,  that  he 
now,  also,  will  feel  happy  with  us.  I  think, 
that  the  very  first  look  at  his  room  will  re- 
store his  usual  cheerfulness.  Oh,  that  he 
were  only  well  here,  to  see  how  the  broad 
splendid  Elbe  glitters  between  the  rose-bush- 
es in  his  windows — how  the  evening  sun 
hovers  over  the  blue  hills,  throwing  his  gold- 
en tints  into  his  chamber,  through  the  leaves 
and  flowers !  When  he  finds  his  books  all 
put  in  order  in  the  new  book-case  ;  when  he 
sees  father's  portrait  hanging  over  the  sofa ; 
and,  on  the  other  side,  the  dear  little  piano, 
with  the  old  familiar  music  books  lying  upon 
it, — oh,  certainly,  dear  mother,  he  will  then 
find  himself  happy  with  us  !" 

"  Thou  dear  little  simpleton !"  said  the 
mother,  smiling;  "thou  thinkest  that  be- 
cause the  neat  and  well-ordered  chamber 
constitutes  thy  girlish  joy,  it  will  meet  the 
wishes  of  a  man  likewise  ?  Thou  knowest 
nothing  of  men  and  the  world  yet,  Mary !" 

"  But  I  know  my  brother !  I  know  Louis  !" 
she  replied,  and  a  pearly  tear  of  sisterly  af- 
fection trembled  in  her  blue  eye. 

A  postilions's  horn  at  this  moment  sound- 
ed. 

"  'Tis  he !"  cried  Mary,  running  to  the 
window.  The  mother,  too,  started  at  the 
sound,  but  presently  recollecting  herself,  she 
said : 

"  How  thou  imposest  upon  thyself,  Mary  ! 
Dost  think  he  would  come  with  extra  post- 
horses,  like  some  great  lord  ?  Remember  that 
he  can  travel  but  with  the'  limited  means  of 
a  student.  Perhaps,  as  it  often  happens,"  she 


96 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


added,  with  a  smile — "  he  comes,  lowly  and 
humble,  back  to  his  native  place,  with  a  con- 
sumptive purse." 

Mary,  who  by  this  time  had  become  aware 
of  her  mistake,  said,  turning  to  her  mother  : 

"  I  imagine,  to  myself,  all  the  different 
ways  in  which  he  may  come.  If  he  give 
only  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  I  shall  think 
that  he  means  to  give  us  a  greater  surprise. 
If  a  stately  carriage  comes  rolling  along, 
why — what  hinders  that  he  should  not  be 
seated  inside,  in  company  with  some  friend 
or  travelling  companion  1  When  the  front- 
door opens  on  its  hinges,  and  a  man's  step  is 
heard  on  the  stairs,  1  always  think  of  Louis ; 
always  hope  that  the  door  will  be  opened,  and 
he  come  in." 

"  Heavens !  it  is  he !"  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, as  the  door  of  the  room  actually  did 
open,  and  with  the  cry  :  "  Brother !  dear 
brother  !"  she  flew  towards  the  intruder  and 
hung  aroniid  his  neck  in  the  closest  em- 
brace. She  kissed  him,  she  wept,  she  laugh- 
ed, and  suffered  herself  to  be  half  dragged 
to  where  her  mother  sat,  who  tried  to  rise 
from  the  sofa,  but  sank  back  overcome,  until 
Louis  seized  hold  of  both  her  hands,  kissed 
her  amid  tears  of  joy,  and  then  hid  his  face 
in  her  bosom. 

The  first  moments  past,  now  commenced 
that  gay  and  merry  exchange  of  unfettered 
cordiality  ;  those  thousand-and-one  question- 
ings about  trifles  and  recollections  of  days 
gone  by  ;  those  sweet  outpourings  of  the  full 
heart ;  that  communion  of  the  sweetest  feel- 
ings of  the  soul,  by  the  interchanging  of 
which  a  new  existence  is  created,  and  every 
little  estrangement  resulting  from  absence  at 
once  swept  away. 

Pushing  back  the  hair  from  her  brother's 
brow,  Mary  said,  with  a  smile  : 

"  Dear  brother,  your  brow  is  as  open  and 
handsome  as  ever ;  and  if  I  had  seen  no- 
thing more  than  that,  peeping  over  a  hedge, 
I  could  not  fail  to  have  known  you." 

Louis  looked  into  his  sister's  clear,  friendly 
eye.  He  responded  to  her  childish  playful- 
ness, and  laying  one  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, while  he  covered  his  face  with  the 
other,  so  that  the  ej'es  only  were  visible,  he 
said : 

"  And  I  would  have  known  you,  sister,  in 
distant  Sicily,  though  looking  out  between 
the  slits  of  some  pretty  green  window- blind. 
Thy  blue  eyes  would  have  betrayed  thee  di- 
rectly ;  and  yet  they  seem  to  me  to  be  of  a 
purer  azure  than  ever  ;  indeed  thou  hast,  on 
the  whole,  become  much  handsomer,  sister  !" 

"Away  with  you  !'  said  Mary,  blushing  as 
she  gently  disengaged  herself  from  his  hand. 
**  Go  along  !  ^t  ns  rather  look  at  each 
other  without  wasting  compliments :  and 
thou  must  tell  me  of  a  thousand  things.  But 


stop  ! — first  tell  me,  didst  come  in  the  car- 
riage with  the  four  post-horses,  which  passed 
by  just  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mary,  I  did,"  answered 
Louis.  "  But  I  wanted  to  take  you  unawares, 
and  therefore  got  out  at  the  comer.  I  slipped 
into  the  house  while  the  coach  rattled  by, 
so  that  you  did  not  even  hear  me  open  the 
door." 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  Mary,  with  a  maiden- 
ly curiosity,  "  how  came  you  to  arrive  in  that 
handsome  coach  ?" 

The  mother  seemed  to  have  the  same 
question  to  ask.     Louis  replied  : 

"  Singularly  enough.  In  Switzerland  I 
became  acquainted  with  some  Polish  officers, 
and  again  we  met  at  Leipzig.  They  insisted 
upon  ray  joining  them,  and  I  gladly  accepted 
an  offer  so  frankly  made.  But,  dear  mother, 
I  have  to  look  to  you  to  enable  me  to  return 
this  civility,  for  it  is  almost  indispensable  for 
me  to  tender  them  an  invitation  to  visit  oar 
house." 

"  If  they  will  not  feel  out  of  their  ele- 
ment," answered  the  mother,  "  thou  must 
know  full  well  that  thy  friends  will  always 
be  welcome  to  me." 

"  But,  brother,  you  have  not  seen  your 
chamber  yet !"  cried  Mary,  quickly,  almost 
taking  the  words  out  of  her  mother's  mouth. 
"  Oh,  I  must  show  it  to  you  this  moment ! 
And  where  is  your  baggage  ?" 

"  No  hurry  about  that,"  said  Louis,  laugh- 
ing, for  his  travelling  property  was  indeed 
scant. 

As  Louis  entered  the  quiet,  friendly  cham- 
ber, an  expression  of  sadness  came  over  his 
features. 

"  What  beautiful  roses  !"  he  said,  after 
a  pause ;  "  and  full  of  buds  !" 

"  They  were  always  your  most  admired 
flowers,"  said  Mary,  glad  to  see  him  turn  his 
face  towards  the  window ;  "  but  here  are 
some  carnations  also  among  them  ;  and  do 
they  not  form  a  beautiful  foreground  to  the 
landscape  behind  ?  Does  not  the  Elbe  glit- 
ter like  silver  between  the  leaves,  and  the 
evening  sun  shine  like  gold  through  tliat 
purple  sky !" 

"  Purple  !  azure  !  gold  I  well,  it  sounds 
well-nigh  fairy-like — at  least,  quite  Italian. 
But  you  are  right,  sister;  it  is  indeed  beauti- 
ful up  here !" 

Mary  opened  two  other  window-sashes,  to 
allow  the  mild  cooling  May-breezes  fully  to 
ventilate  the  room.  Louis,  his  arm  encir- 
cling the  waist  of  his  sister,  stepped  with  her 
to  the  window,  and  looked  abroad  over  the 
broad,  shining  river.  He  remained  silent,  and 
so  did  Mary.  But  her  silence  was  that  of  unal- 
loyed happiness,  arising  from  inward  content- 
ment ;  his,  the  mute  troubled  fruit  of  despair. 

Had  the  girl  at  this  time  raised  her  eyes 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


sr 


to  her  brother,  she  would  have  read  in  that 
pale  countenance  the  painful  conflict  of  his 
suffering  heart. 

"  Speak  to  me  of  our  mother,  Mary,"  at 
length  said  he ;  "  she  looks  a  little  pale ;  is 
there  any  thing  serious  the  matter  ?  Does  she 
oomplain  of  her  lungs  ?" 

"The  doctor  gives  us  the  best  hopes," 
replied  Mary. 

And  how  do  you  get  along  in  these  trou- 
blesome times  ?  Do  mother  and  you  feel 
much  anxiety  ?" 

"  Now  you  are  here,  Louis,  I  feel  quite 
easy  and  safe,"  answered  Mary,  gently  cling- 
ing to  her  brother.  "  1  confess,  the  wild  con- 
fusion of  war,  even  with  its  dazzling  pomp, 
has  almost  frightened  me.  To-morrow,  it 
is  said,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  is  to  arrive. 
Many  princes  are  already  come  to  meet  him. 
What  power  this  man  must  possess  !  How 
does  he  constrain  them  to  make  these  terri- 
ble sacrifices,  when,  almost  to  a  man,  they 
offer  their  services  with  the  utmost  reluc- 
tance ?  Excepting  our  king,  who  clings  to 
him  with  the  craziest  infatuation,  who " 

"  Say  no  more,  Mary,"  interrupted  Louis. 
"  Judge  not  where  the  most  skilful  find  it 
difficult  to  decide^  Recollect  that  a  prince 
has  to  weigh  and  consider.  Besides,  can 
such  as  we  comprehend  the  irresistible  power 
exercised  by  a  superior  mind  ?  Duty  and 
inclination  often  clash  and  cross  each  other 
60  strangely  that  the  keenest  intellect  is  at  a 
loss  to  discriminate  between  them." 

"  How  ?"  said  Mary,  in  astonishment, 
"  Ypu,  Louis,  also  an  admirer  of  the  man  w  ho 
has  plunged  our  country  in  misery,  and  who 
sinks  it  yet  deeper  in  woe  every  day  ?" 

"  Dearest  sister,"  answered  Louis,  "  you 
speak  like  a  child — like  many  who  see  only 
what  is  before  their  eyes  but  detect  not  the 
chain  of  causes  and  events  which  have 
brought  about  the  unhappy  state  of  Ger- 
many ;  who  also  are  no  longer  impartial 
judges,  because  they  have  taken  sides  in  the 
conflict.  But  let  all  this  pass ;  these  are 
serious  matters,  which  are  foreign  to  a 
female's  affairs,  and  which  ought  not  to  sad> 
den  the  first  moments  of  our  meeting." 

Thus  saying,  both  left  the  chamber. 


CHAPTER  X. 

,  On  the  day  following  young  Rosen's  arri- 
val, the  city  of  Dresden  presented  the  impos- 
ing spectacle  of  an  innumerable  multitude 
of  people,  and  the  well  ordered  array  of  for- 
midable armies.  The  -immediate  cause  of 
this  commotion  and  bustle,  was  the  coming 


of  the  Emperor.  He  was  looked  for  with 
a  solemnity  of  expectation,  which  might  be 
called  next  akin  to  dread ;  for  his  appear- 
ance at  this  juncture  was  to  be  the  signal 
for  an  enterprise  the  astonishing  boldness 
of  which  filled  the  most  daring  spirits  with 
awe. 

It  was  the  fifteenth  of  May. 

Louis  had  escorted  his  mother  and  sister 
to  the  house  of  a  friend,  whence  the  ladles 
could  see  the  procession  at  ease.  While 
thus  stationed,  he  all  at  once  beard  a  voice 
call  out  his  name.  It  was  Rasinski,  who, 
mounted  on  a  handsome  grey  charger,  was 
galloping  along  the  ranks  of  soldiers.  He 
managed  the  noble  animal  very  gracefully, 
and  with  a  light  and  practised  hand. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear  friend  of  St. 
Gothard !"  he  called  out  *.o  Louis.  "  I 
hardly  thought  that  we  should  meet  to-day, 
for  it  is  a  very  busy  time  with  us.  The  Em- 
peror will  be  here  in  an  hour." 

Louis  ran  down  into  the  street,  and  mak- 
ing  his  way  through  the  soldiers,  shook  the 
outstretched  hand  of  Rasinski.  As  he 
gazed  on  the  dazzling  uniform  of  the  hand- 
some cavalier,  and  ftritnessed  the  martial 
satisfaction  beaming  from  his  eyes,  a  latent 
feeling  of  envy  sprung  up  in  his  breast. 

"  You  look  strangely  at  me,  friend,"  said 
Rasinski ;  "  Is  there  anything  particular  to 
observe  ?" 

Louis  was  about  to  reply,  when  on  a  sud- 
den the  rolling  of  drums  cut  him  short,  and 
the  troopers,  closing  and  dressing  their 
ranks,  forced  him  to  make  a  hasty  retreat. 
A  general  with  a  numerous  retinue  came 
galloping  from  the  direction  of  the  palace. 
It  was  the  King  of  Naples  (Murat)  in  his 
fantastic  gold-feed izened  uniform,  who,  with 
a  truly  royal  bearing,  came  prancing  through 
the  streets  on  his  bright  chestnut  charger, 
lie  was  on  his  way  to  meet  the  Emperor 
at  the  field  called  the  "  Frcikerger  Schlag.'* 
The  sparkling  eye  of  this  man  rapidly  scan- 
ned the  multitude ;  he  seemed  satisfied. 
Rasinski  had  backed  his  horse  a  little  to 
one  side,  and  saluted  the  General  respect- 
fully ;  he  halted,  spoke  a  few  words  with 
him,  and  even  shook  him  by  the  hand.  This 
distinguishing  trait  pruditced  an  evident 
effect  on  the  whole  suite,  and  inspired  a  cer- 
tain regard  for  the  Polish  officer,  for  even 
the  generals  gave  him  a  considerate  notice 
when  he  joined  their  ranks  to  follow  in  the 
train. 

This  splendid  cavalcade  of  marshals,  gen- 
erals, staff-ofiicers  of  the  highest  rank,  and 
many  Gerinan  princes,  spurred  swiftly  down 
towards  the  gate  known  by  the  name  of  the 
«  WillsdrufFer  Thor,"  through  which  the  Em- 
peror was  to  enter  the  city.  Every  counte- 
nance shone  with  radiance — the  tip  of  ez- 


38 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


pectation  could  be  read  in  every  face.  Louis 
stood  perplexed,  when  the  clatter  of  gallop- 
ing horses  caused  him  to  turn  his  head.  It 
was  the  two  young  Poles,  Boleslaus  and 
Jaromir,  hastening  to  overtake  the  retinue. 
They  observed  Louis  also,  and  as  they  flew 
past  gave  him  a  friendly  salute  with  the  hand, 

"  Happy  fellows  !  "  he  thought,  "  what 
can  cloud  your  buoyant  spirits,  who  have  no 
other  wish  for  the  future  than  to  stake  your 
lives  on  the  redemption  of  your  basely  sold 
country  i" 

But  while  thus  musing,  Louis  all  at  once 
found  himself  in  the  embrace  of  a  man  and 
received  a  boisterous  kiss  on  the  cheek 
before  he  had  time  to  ascertain  what  friend 
it  could  be  that  bestowed  upon  him  so  hearty 
a  salute. 

"  Louis  !  dost  not  know  me  then  ?"  exclaim- 
ed the  individual,  perceiving  but  too  plainly 
the  surprise  depicted  in  the  other's  counte- 
nance. "  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  so  entire- 
ly forgotten  me,  or  am  I  so  greatly  altered  ?" 

"  What !  Bernard,  my  dear  friend  Ber- 
nard ! "  cried  Louis,  "  why  should  I  not 
know  thee  ?  But  how  could  I  expect  to  find 
thee  here  ?"  ' 

"  The  deuce  ! — at  least  just  as  much  as  I 
could  expect  to  find  thee !"  said  Bernard, 
squeezing  the  hand  he  retained  with  all  the 
warmth  of  true  friendship.  "  Come  along," 
he  added,  "  out  of  this  crowd,  A  glass  of 
good  Italian  wine  will  taste  delicious  to  him 
who  just  comes  from  Naples.  Come  ;  for  I 
want  some  dark  corner  on  purpose,  where  I 
can  hear  thee  give  an  account  of  thy  travels, 
while  we  both  take  a  hearty  pull  at  the  bot- 
tle." 

Louis  took  the  arm  of  his  gay  schoolmate, 
and  together  they  pushed  their  way  through 
the  crowd. 

"  Signor  Longo,  a  flask  of  Syracuse  or 
Lacrymae  Christi,"  cried  Bernard,  on  enter- 
ing the  restaurant.  "  Come  to  the  window, 
Louis,  and  see  the  rabble  scudding  by  to  get 
a  sight  of  the  Emperor." 

The  wine  was  brought,  and  the  friends 
touched  each  other's  glasses.  Scarcely  hud 
they  done  so,  however,  than  bellowing,  as 
of  distant  thunder,  struck  the  ear. 

"  The  devil !"  cried  Bernard  ;  "  don't  you 
hear  the  cannon  ?  The  Emperor  is  coming ! 
Look  how  the  rabble  is  pressing  on !  Quick, 
Louis,  let  us  go  I" 

With  these  words  he  seized  Louis  and 
dragged  him  into  the  street. 

The  crowd,  which  swayed  to  and  fro,  with- 
out any  definite  purpose,  nov/  flooded  from 
every  quarter,  pressing  and  pushing  towards 
the  WillsdruiTer. 

It  was  already  quite  dark ;  the  street-lamps 
were  lighted  and  fire-balls,  also,  put  up  to 
illumine  the  scene. 


"  We  shall  have  a  night-piece  to  contem- 
plate," said  Bernard  ;  "  I  Hke  that.  But  as 
the  Emperor  has  not  yet  come,  I  wish  he 
would  stay  away  a  little  longer,  else  we  shall 
not  have  either  daylight  or  coal-pans  enough 
to  see  his  face  by." 

It  proved,  in  fact,  a  false  alarm ;  some 
other  carriage  had  been  mistaken  for  the 
Emperor's.     The  crowd  settled  back. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  return  to  that  brick- 
and-mortar  hole  again,"  continued  Bernard. 
"  Let  us  ramble  about  the  streets,  to  pass  the 
time." 

The  two  young  men  wardered  up  and 
down,  among  the  moving  and  surging  masses, 
half-illumined  by  the  red  glare  of  the  fire- 
baskets.  But,  hark  I  the  uproar  of  voices 
rolls  nearer  and  nearer ! 

"  Something  is  going  on,"  cried  Bernard, 
as  he  forced  his  way  up  the  steps  of  a  house. 
"  There  he  comes  !"  he  repeated,  pointing  to 
a  carriage,  behind  which  were  seen  a  num- 
ber of  horsemen,  whose  drawn  sabres  and 
small,  fluttering  banners  shone  in  the  light 
These  were  Polish  Lancers,  following  the 
carriage  as  a  garde  d'honneur.  The  Em- 
peror had  withdrawn  into  a  corner,  and 
seemed  unwilling  to  show  himself.  But  just 
opposite  to  the  spot  where  Louis  and  Bernatd 
were  standing,  a  momentary  halt  occurred  in 
the  procession  ;  he  leaned  forward,  and  his 
countenance  was  in  consequence  seen  quite 
plainly  by  the  strong  reflection  of  the  lights. 

"  There  he  is  !"  shouted  Bernard  again. 

He  and  Louis  kept  their  eyes  immoveably 
fixed  on  the  Emperor's  face.  When  at  last 
the  head  disappeared,  and  the  procession 
moved  on,  Louis  awoke  as  from  a  trance, 
and  both  moved  away  out  of  the  crowd. 

Grave  and  silent  they  proceeded  side  by 
side.  Suddenly  Bernard  quickly  uttered, 
"  Good  night,  my  friend  !  we  shall  meet  to- 
morrow V  and  vanished  in  the  darkness. 

Louis  went  home  thoughtful  and  grave. 
Even  the  loving  "  good  night,"  which  Mary 
gave  him,  could  not  dispel  his  unsettled 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  next  day,  in  the  forenoon,  Louis  was 
taking  a  walk  on  the  Terrace  of  Bruhl.  All 
at  once  Bernard  stood  before  him. 

"  Sake  tibi .'"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  I  have 
just  seen  our  Zeus  or  Pluto,  as  you  like,  on 
horseback." 

"  The  Emperor  ?"  cried  Louis,  with  inter- 
est, answering  the  salutation  by  extending 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


hia  hand.    "Well,  how  does  be  look  by  day- 
light?" 

"  Truly,  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall  de- 
scribe him  ,"  said  the  light-hearted  Bernard  ; 
"  there  was  so  much  noise  all  around ;  bells 
ringing,  cannons  firing,  uproar  among  the 
people,  troops  marching  to  the  parade-ground, 
— in  a  word,  all  Pandemonium  let  loose. 
But  when  I  now,  as  a  painter,  (the  profes- 
sion this  young  man  followed,  was  that  of  an 
artist,)  endeavor  to  recall  the  Emperor  to 
mind,  it  was,  methinks,  a  pale,  sallow  coun- 
tenance, with  a  pointed,  angular  profile,  such 
as  a  dog  may  make  in  tearing  a  piece  of  pa- 
per. A  pair  of  greyish  dark  eyes,  a  short 
thick-set  body,  and  withal  so  mysterious  in 
its  influence,  that  I  could  in  nowise  compre- 
hend what  ghost  had  bewitched  me." 

"  Nor  did  I  myself  fail  receiving  this 
influence,"  said  Louis.  "As  the  Em- 
peror yesterday  passed  us  by,  I  felt  as  if  each 
one  who  looked  upon  him  in  that  mute 
crowd  felt  himself  irresistibly  drawn  towards 
him — and  in  spite  of  the  ringing  of  bells,  the 
thunder  of  cannon,  and  the  hurrahs  of  the 
soldiers." 

"  Thou  talkest  like  a  Thales,"  answered 
Bernard,  "  yea,  like  Solon  himself,  whom  I 
hold  in  higher  esteem,  becauser  he  knew 
how  to  give  good  laws  to  a  gainsaying  peo- 
ple, whereas  the  former  only  studied  the  laws 
of  nature  with  tolerable  success.  But  see  ! 
there  comes  a  fine  fellow  ;  be  looks  as  if  he 
could  be  an  Emperor  too  !" 

"Look  here,  my  friend,"  said  Rasinski, 
for  it  was  he  of  whom  Bernard  spoke ; 
"  now  we  may  at  last  commune  together  a 
little  seasonably.  For  five  or  six  days  I  shall 
be  my  own  master ;  and  some  of  these,  at 
least,  we  shall  be  able  to  spend  together.  In 
the  meantime  you  may  congratulate  me. 
The  Emperor  has  commissioned  me  to  or- 
ganise a  light  regiment,  which  is  to  act  as  a 
free  corps,  or  volunteers  ;  and  he  has  invest- 
ed me  with  full  authority  to  choose  my  own 
officers  and  men.  I  could  not  have  dreamt 
of  a  more  trustworthy  or  honorable  post.  It 
will  require  three  days  yet  to  obtain  all  the 
necessary  orders  and  commissions  in  writing ; 
and  then,  after  making  all  necessary  arrange- 
ments, 1  am  off  immediately  for  Warsaw, 
where  I  intend  to  select  my  comrades  from 
among  my  own  countrymen." 

Bernard  had  narrowly  observed  the  hand- 
some Pole ;  scanning  him  as  if  he  would 
retain  his  noble  proportions  in  his  mind. 
This  singular  gazing  seemed  almost  offen- 
sive to  Rasinski ;  Louis  thought  it  time  to 
introduce  them  to  each  other. 

"  The  best  friend  of  my  youth,  Bernard,  a 
painter. — Count  Rasinski,  with  whom  1  be- 
<'ame  acquainted  on  my  journey  over  the  St. 
Crothard,"  he  said. 


"  I  hope  nothing  prevents  us  being  all  friends 
together,"  said  Bernard,  with  animation. 

"  Certainly,  nothing,"  answered  Rasinski, 
smiling,  and  taking  Bernard's  half-offered 
hand ;  "  for  there  is  no  truer  axiom,  than 
that  two  bodies  which  are  equal  to  a  third, 
are  equal  to  each  other.  In  the  mean- 
time— " 

"  You  will  be  rny  guest  to-day,  in  order  to 
prove  the  truth  of  your  axiom,"  promptly 
Louis  interfered.  "  I  have,"  he  continued, 
"  already  given  my  mother  the  promise  to 
introduce  yourself  and  your  two  younger 
friends  to  my  family — unless  you  disdain  an 
invitation  to  join  the  circumscribed  circle  of 
the  bourgeoisie." 

"  What  strange  talk  is  that,  my  young 
friend  ?"  said  Rasinski,  pleasantly,  raising 
his  finger  with  an  admonishing  signification. 
"  Can  any  thing  be  more  charming  to  the 
soldier,  whose  existence  is  nothing  but  a 
constant  heartless  and  hcwneless  wandering 
on  the  great  highway  of  public  events,  than 
the  confidential  and  sincere  family-circle  ?" 

"  I  thought  a  soldier  could  feel  only  the 
puerility  of  such  relations." 

"  Oh,  my  friend  !  you  cannot  i)elieve  how 
greatly  one  who  roams  a  stranger  ever 
learns  to  prize  the  happiness  of  the  domestic 
fire-side !  One  day  enjoyed  in  this  manner, 
becomes  an  inestimable  treasure  in  his  wan- 
derings through  the  desert.  It  does  one 
good  to  be  reminded  by  the  intercourse  with 
others,  »hat  there  was  a  time  when  we  also 
sustained  the  endearing  relation  of  a  son,  a 
brother,  perhaps  of  a  husband  and  a  father  !" 
"  Hem !"  said  Bernard,  "  there  is  some 
truth  in  that." 

"  One  who  is  accustomed,"  continued  Ra- 
sinski, "  to  see  the  horizon  of  existence 
sliifting  every  day  between  storm  and  sun- 
shine, may  very  naturally  feel  himself  strait- 
ened by  the  monotony  of  an  unbroken  life. 
But  he*  who  steadily  and  truly  devotes  him- 
self to  a  uniform  course,  beholds  a  thousand 
nice  shadings  and  intermixtures  of  tints  in 
the  dull,  one-colored  picture,  which  satisfy 
his  temperate  mind,  and  present,  as  in  a 
magic  lantern,  the  fitful  drama  of  life.  Of 
course  such  a  one  must  shun  all  violent  rup- 
tures. Clefts  and  gulfs  might  mar  the 
smoothness  of  his  panorama.  But  is  there 
anything  gained  by  accustoming  ones-self  to 
the  strongest  stimulants  ?  Do  not  our  facul- 
ties »oon  become  so  blunted  that  we  scarcely 
feel  the  difference  between  ice  and  burning 
coals  ?  Just  so  is  it  that  our  blunted  moral 
sense  speedily  produces  indifference  and  in- 
sensibility." 

"  The  river  does  very  well  for  a  skiff— the 
ocean  is  for  (he  man-of-war's-man,  and  1  be- 
Ibng'to  the  latter,"  said  the  spirited  Bernard. 
"  But,  to  speak  of  something  else.     Thy  in- 


30 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


vitation,  Louis,  pleases  me  not.  Do  we  not 
have  a  lovely  May-day,  with  sunshine  and 
blue  skies  ?  I  propose  that  we  unite  in  a 
trip  out  in  free  air." 

*'  Willingly,"  answered  Louis ;  "  I  propose, 
then,  a  water-party  on  the  Elbe." 

"  Excellent !"  cried  Rasinski ;  "  one  day 
out  of  doors  knits  together  the  hearts  of  men 
quicker  than  a  year  in  the  society  of  the 
saloon." 

"  But  when  ?"  asked  Bernard  ;  "  I  think 
three  o'clock  would  be  the  fittest  hour." 

"  Well,"  replied  Louis,  "  1  will  make  haste 
to  engage  a  boat.  But,  at  all  events,  I  must 
beg  you  all  to  meet  at  ray  mother's  house ; 
for,  in  case  any  impediment  should  present 
itself,  my  first  plan  can  be  carried  into  ef- 
fect." 

The  friends  separated  after  these  words, 
each  going  his  own  way.  Louis  remained 
standing  a  few  minutes  near  the  edge  of  the 
terrace — looked  up  the  river,  deliberating 
within  himself  to  what  point  the  excursion 
had  better  be  directed.  The  proposition  had 
^ined  his  approbation  almost  by  surprise,  as 
Bernard,  by  his  blunt,  impetuous  manner,  and 
Rasinski,  by  his  eagerness  in  catching  at 
the  idea  to  spend  the  day  in  the  open  air, 
had  left  him  no  room  to  choose.  Stili  he  felt 
that  it  was  not  quite  in  order  that  his  sister 
should  undertake  an  excursion  of  this  kind, 
in  the  company  of  so  many  strange  gentle- 
men— especially  if  she  were  to  be  the  only 
young  lady  present.  The  major  part;*  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Dresden  were,  moreover,  rigid- 
ly German  in  their  mode  of  thinking,  and 
bore  a  cordial  hatred  toward  the  strangers, 
as  the  oppressors  and  vampires  of  their 
country.  Mary  deeply  partook  of  these  sen- 
timents ;  but,  even  setting  that  aside,  there 
were  too  many  highly  estimable  people 
among  the  opposing  party,  in  the  opinion  of 
whom,  a  young  girl  would  place  herself  in  a 
dubious  light  by  publicly  associating  with 
the  officers  of  tiie  army,  who  were  not  in  the 
best  odor,  on  the  score  of  morals.  The  whole 
affair  was,  therefore,  very  unpleasant  to 
him,  and  he  was  just  planning  in  which  way 
he  should  best  make  the  proposal  to  his 
mother,  when  he  saw  her  with  Mary  and 
several  other  ladies  coming  down  the  ter- 
race. 

Before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  whether 
to  advance  to  meet  them  or  not,  Mary,  who 
had  recognised  him  at  a  distance,  came 
skipping  lightly  towards  him,  exclaiming: 

"  There  you  are,  brother !  Oh,  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you  !  Come  along  with  me,  and 
you  shall  see  some  old  acquaintances." 

Saying  this,  she  drew  him  forward  toward 
the  ladies,  who  had  stopped,  seemingly  for 
the  purpose  of  awaiting  Louis'  approach. 

Led  on  by  Mary,  he  stepped  nearer,  some- 


what abashed.  An  elderly  lady  and  two 
young  girls  were  in  company  with  his  mother. 
These  last  smiled  pleasantly,  as  his  \ook, 
doubtful  and  prying,  rested  upon  them.  This 
was,  howevfer,  but  for  a  moment. 

"  My  dear  auntT'  he  suddenly  exclaimed ; 
"  and,  is  it  possible  I  Emma  and  Julia  ?" 

"  To  be"  sure,''  said  the  elderly  lady;  "  but 
is  it  lawful  to  forget  one's  next  of  kin  ?" 

Louis  kissed  the  aunt's  hand ;  how  ta 
salute  the  daughters  was  a  more  critical 
point ;  for,  though  he  had  spent  most  of  his 
boyish  days  with  them,  yet  a  certain  diffidence 
interposed  between  the  grown-up  young  man 
and  the  ripening  young  maidens. 

Emma  and  Julia  were  near  relatives  ot 
Louis,  for  their  parent  was  his  own  mother's 
sister,  a  widow,  and  she  was  living  with  hei 
daughters  on  a  small  farm  a  few  miles  from 
Dresden. 

They  had  unexpectedly  come  to  the  city 
with  their  mother  to  see  the  Emperor,  and  to 
witness  the  public  festivities  announced  to  be 
given  in  honor  of  his  visit  to  Dresden. 

The  most  friendly  interest  was  mutually 
manifested  by  all  concerned,  and  the  joy  of 
meeting  would  no  doubt  have  been  yet  more 
unequivocally  manifested,  had  the  publicity 
of  the  place  not  imposed  some  restraint. 
Mary,  therefore,  urged  a  speedy  return  home, 
where  they  might  exchange  their  greetings 
with  all  the  warmth  of  a  family  relationship. 

Hardly  had  the  party  arrived*  home,  and 
sat  down,  when  a  knocking  was  heard  at  the 
door.  It  was  Bernard,  who  walked  in  gaily, 
saluting  all  present. 

He  was  received  with  the  greatest  cor- 
diality by  the  mother  of  Louis  ;  Julia  and 
Emma,  too,  remembered  him  very  well,  for  , 
he  had  formerly  made  them  frequent  presents 
of  his  little  sketches,  to  satisfy  their  Childish 
importunities. 

"  You  are  surprised,  Louis,"  he  said,  "  to 
see  me  here  so  much  before  the  time  ;  but 
there  are  important  things  going  on,  which  I 
must  communicate.  The  whole  court  are 
going  to  Pillnitz  to-day,  to  ascend  the  Pors- 
berg,  and  then  to  go  down  by  torch-light.  I 
thought  that  the  ladies  perhaps  would  be 
pleased  to  see  the  show,  and  it  requires  an 
earlier  start.  Nobody  but  myself  in  all 
Dresden  knows  anything  of  the  affair,  for  the 
MarshaJ*of  the  Court  has  just  told  me  of  it, 
by  which  we  are  great  gainers  ;  for  we  can, 
through  this,  get  a  good  place  at  Pillnitz." 

This  intelligence  of  Bernard's  was  hailed 
with  raptures  by  the  two  country  Misses. 
It  was  determined  to  hurry  their  departure,  4 
but  to  take,  instead  of  a  boat,  a  couple  of 
carriages,  the  procuring  of  which  Bernard 
undertook,  at  the  same  time  pledging  him- 
self to  look  up  Count  Rasinski  and  his  young 


NAPOLOEN'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


31 


companions,  and  Notify  them  of  the  altered 
arrangement. 

The  clock  had  but  just  struck  two,  when 
one  of  the  carriages  bespoke  by  Bernard 
was  at  the  door;  the  other  came  a  few 
minutes  later,  in  which  were  already  seated 
the  three  officers  with  Bernard.  Louis  hast- 
ened down  to  welcome  them. 

When  the  door  of  the  parlor  opened,  and 
Rasinski,  with  his  lofty  figure,  entered,  there 
Was  no  mistaking  the  glad  surprise  depicted 
in  the  countenances  of  the  females.  The 
three  girls  blushed,  from  a  dim,  yet  correct, 
consciousness  that  their  looks  had  betrayed 
the  impression  made  upon  them  by  the  gal- 
lant Pole.  Louis'  mother,  though  by  no 
means  unaccustomed  to  society  above  her 
present  condition,  felt  for  a  moment  confused, 
but  the  friendly  manner  of  Rasinski  quickly 
dispelled  these  feelings.  On  Louis  present- 
ing him  as  "  Count  Rasinski,"  he  said, 
pleasantly : 

"  My  claims  on  the  friendship  of  your 
son,  madam,  are  too  recent  to  justify  my 
complaint  that  he  did  not  introduce  me  as  his 
friend,  else  the  first  word  which  passed  be- 
tween us  must  have  been  an  accusation  from 
me. 

"  Yet  my  son,"  said  the  mother, "  seems  to 
count  greatly  on  the  rights  of  friendship, 
when  venturing  to  introduce  you  to  a  circle 
where  nothing  can  be  offered  but  such  gifts  as 
take  their  value  from  the  sincere  friendship 
which  prompts  them." 

"  These  are  the  only  ones  which  I  covet, 
which  are  precious  to  my  heart  above  every- 
thing else,"  answered  Rasinski. 

Louis  now  introduced  his  gallant  friend 
and  companions  to  the  rest  of  those  present. 
As  the  gentlemen  declined  taking  the  proffer- 
ed refreshments,  there  was  nothing  to  delay 
their  departure.  Rasinski  escorted  Louis' 
mother  down  stairs,  the  latter  his  aunt.  The 
first  carriage  was  occupied  by  the  aunt, 
Mary,  Bernard,  and  the  two  young  officers. 
The  mother,  Rasinski,  Julia,  Emma  and 
Louis  followed  in  the  second,  and  the  party 
set  out  for  the  pleasures  of  Pillnitz. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

The  plan  of  a  visit  to  the  Porsberg  had 
been  so  suddenly  resolved  upon  at  court,  that 
but  very  few  persons  in  the  city  knew  any- 
thing about  it,  and  consequently  our  pleasure- 
party  found  Pillnitz  entirely  deserted.  Louis 
embraced  this  opportunity  for  engaging  a 
private  room  at  the  inn,  fearing  that  by-and- 
bye  the  attendance  would  be  so  large  that  a 


place  could  not  be  had.  The  ladies  having 
re-adjusted  their  toilets,  proceeded  to  the 
garden,  where  the  shady  walks  offered  the 
most  agreeable  retreat  from  the  close  sultry 
heat.  Later,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  they 
intended  to  ascend  the  mountain,  as  at  that 
time  they  would  not  be  molested  by  the  many 
vehicles,  the  court  not  being  expected  to 
reach  the  top  till  half  an  hour  before  sun- 
down. 

The  promenaders  passed  their  time  quite 
pleasantly.  Travellers,  and  especially  mili- 
tary men,  who  have  long  led  a  wandering 
life,  succeed  generally  much  sooner  in  be- 
coming familiar  than  others.  The  anticipa- 
tion of  a  speedy  parting  teaches  us  to  prize 
fleeting  moments.  We  take  far  more  notice 
of  him  whom  we  can  see  only  for  a  short 
time,  perhaps  to  be  separated  for  ever,  than 
we  do  of  him  whose  path  we  expect  will  run 
parallel  with  ours. 

It  could  not  be  otherwise  but  that  girld 
brought  up  in  the  quietude  of  country-life, 
I  of  good  parts  and  understanding,  but  whose 
education  had,  from  circumstances,  been  de- 
ficient in  many  points,  should  be  strongly  at- 
tracted by  the  conversation  of  two  lively 
youths,  in  whose  breasts  glowed  the  noble 
flame  of  a  patriotic  and  warlike  enthusiasm. 
Jaromir,  moreover,  inherited  that  popular, 
artless  vivacity  of  the  Poles,  which  received 
a  new  charm  from  the  singular  accent  with 
which  he  spoke  the  German  lanjruage,  and 
the  cQnsequently  quaint  and  laughable  man- 
ner in  which  he  communicated  his  narratives. 
Boleslaus,  on  the  contrary,  was  of  a  grave 
demeanor ;  but  the  dignity  of  his  counte- 
nance, his  high  brow  of  sculptured  marble, 
shaded  by  dark  locks  clustering  around  it, 
and  his  fiery  eyes,  secured  to  him  a  warm 
interest  in  every  beholder. 

The  youthful  couples  enjoyed,  therefore, 
their  happiness  in  all  innocence,  without 
troubling  themselves  with  theories  respecting 
its  cause ;  it  pervaded  and  agitated  their 
bosoms,  as  does  a  fair  day  in  spring ;  the 
balmy  and  soothing  influence  of  which  flows 
from  the  hidd»in  fountains  of  the  soul,  pro- 
voking a  general  longing  after  something, 
without  fixing  our  gaze  on  any  definite  object 
of  hope. 

As  the  two  friends,  Louis  and  Bernard, 
proceeded  aftier  their  companions  and  were 
just  entering  a  shady  avenue  into  which  the 
latter  had  turned,  they  encountered  two 
strangers,  one  of  whom  was  dressed  very 
studiously,  and  carried  the  red  ribbon  of  the 
"  legion  of  honor"  at  his  button-hole.  The 
other  kept  at  a  short  distance  behind,  so  that 
he  seemed  to  be  a  valei,  or  at  most,  a  secre- 
tary. They  were  followed  at  a  still  greater 
distance,  by  two  servants  in  livery.  Salut- 
ing the  young  men  courteously,  the  gentle 


32 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


man  with  the  ribbon  passed  them  quickly, 
while  the  other  stopped  a  moment,  and  look- 
ed back  to  the  servants.  On  turning  round 
again,  Louis  and  Bernard  were  close  upon 
him.  He  seemed  struck  with  their  appear- 
ance. With  a  hasty  bow  and  a  searching 
look,  he  passed  on.  Bernard,  more  struck 
by  the  stranger's  physiognomy,  than  the 
stranger  himself  by  his  own,  looked  back 
after  him,  and  observed  the  stranger  doing 
the  same.  In  the  meantime  they  liad  pass- 
ed the  servants  unnoticed. 

"  I  should  know  that  face,"  said  Bernard ; 
"  it  seems  to  me  I  have  seen  it  before,  some- 
where." 

"I  was  struck  with  that  face,  too,"  an- 
swered Louis  ;  "  but  I  have  no  memory  for 
common-place  "countenances  or  with  which 
some  remarkable  circumstance  is  not  con- 
nected." 

"  Unless  he  crossed  our  path  yesterday  or 
to-day,"  said  Bernard,  in  a  light  manner, 
"  thou  mayest  have  seen  him  at  the  South- 
Pole,  and  I  at  the  North." 

"  He  appeared  as  if  he  knew  you  or  my- 
self," answered  Louis  ;  "  at  least  he  looked 
very  sharply  at  us." 

"  May  be  that  he  recollects  us  both,  and  is 
astonished  to  encounter  us  here  in  the  gar- 
den of  Pillnitz.  It  is  provoking!  I  know 
that  th*^  fellow  will  spoil  my  temper  for  the 
whole  arternoon;  for  I  am  sure  that  I  will 
keep  thinking  of  him  all  the  time,  just  be- 
cause I  shall  endeavor  to  banish  him  from 
my  mind." 

During  this  conversation,  the  two  friends 
had  overtaken  their  companions,  when  Ber- 
nard attached  himself  to  Mary,  to  whom  Ra- 
sinski  hitherto  had  paid  marked  attention. 

The  time  to  ascend  the  mountain  drew 
nigh.  At;  this  requires  the  labor  of  an  hour, 
Louis  thought  it  proper  that  the  ladies  should 
take  Slime  rest  and  refreshment  before  be- 
ginning the  enterprise  ;  which  accordingly 
they  did  at  the  inn. 

They  tfien  set  out  on  their  pilgrimage. 
The  several  paths  leading  up  were  already 
quite  animated  with  pedestrians.  Men  and 
women  of  all  classes  and  conditions,  were 
seen  climbing  towards  the  summit.  Upon 
Louis  with,  his  party  reaching  the  rums,  his 
mother  declared  that  the  climbing  was  pain- 
ful to  her,  and  that  she  must  forego  enjoying 
the  prospect  from  the  top,  and  remain  where 
she  was;  which,  indeed,  was  not  disagree- 
able, as  she  observed  several  well-known 
families  from  the  city,  whom  she  could  join. 
Her  sister  was  of  the  same  mind,  and  re- 
mained also.  The  young  folks,  therefore, 
continued  their  way  alone,  while  the  ma- 
trons seated  themselves  before  a  tent  put  up 
in  the  bushes  near  the  ruins,  in  which  re- 
freshments were  sold. 


Louis  and  Bernard,  who  knew  the  way, 
were  the  guides.  They  sought,  wherever 
practicable,  to  leave  the  main  road  and  to 
select  more  quiet  paths,  which  wound  them- 
selves along  through  the  woods.  They  were 
here  surrounded  by  a  pleasant  green  twilight ; 
the  turf,  covered  with  fresh  springing  flowers, 
gave  out  its  delicious  odors  ;  the  sky  peeped 
through  the  canopy  of  foliage  ;  fountains 
purled  and  skipped  \n  light  mimic  cascades 
across  the  path,  and  then  dashed  their  wind- 
ing streams  down  the  declivity  ;  the  birds 
sang  their  loud  carols ;  a  thousand  insects 
were  heard  humming.  Spring  breathed  and 
lived  in  bush  and  forest,  in  water  and  in  air, 
steeping  the  soul  with  a  dreamy  delight. 
Now  and  then  an  opening  in  the  forest  per- 
mitted a  glance  down  the  mountain.  Pill- 
nitz was  seen  mirrored  in  the  broad  river ; 
now  the  eye  wandered  far  away  over  the 
blue  hills  towards  the  boundaries  of  Bohe- 
mia ;  and  on  looking  through  another  open- 
ing behind,  offering  an  uninterrupted  view, 
there  was  seen  the  entire  mountain  in  its 
green  descent,  deep  down  into  the  valley,  the 
road  all  alive  with  a  thousand  varying  fig- 
ures, and  the  ruin  in  the  back-ground,  lean- 
ing against  a  dark  slope  of  the  mountain- 
forest.  The  walk  was  thus  mueh  shortened 
by  the  pleasant  variety  of  scenery,  and  the 
summit  was  reached,  without  effort,  and 
without  any  sensible  fatigue. 

Festive  preparations  were  here  in  progress 
for  the  reception  of  the  august  visitors.  A 
great  number  of  laborers  and  gardeners' 
daughters  were  busily  engaged,  under  the 
direction  of  the  royal  gardener,  adorning  the 
place  with  wreaths  and  festoons  of  flowers. 
A  splendid  tent  had  been  pitched  on  the 
green  sward,  and  even  the  ancient  watch- 
tower,  from  the  pinnacles  of  which  one  could 
see  only  over  the  tops  of  the  neighboring 
trees,  was  ornamented  with  flowers,  present^ 
ing  a  strange  anomaly  with  the  old  crumbling 
stones.  Bernard  cast  a  hasty  glance  over 
the  whole,  and  said  : 

"  Very  pretty  ;  not  exactly  artistlcal,  yet 
festive  and  gay.  But  you  should  have  let 
the  tower  alone,  good  people  !  It  looks  as  if 
you  were  putting  wreaths  of  flowers  on  the 
bald  pate  of  an  octagenarian.  '  FloVers  be- 
long to  youth — wreaths  are  for  bright  flowing 
locks." 

So  saying,  he  took,  without  farther  cere- 
mony, a  just  finished  wreath  from  the  hands 
of  one  of  the  flower-girls,  and  with  a  dexter- 
ous aYid  graceful  motion,  pressed  it  on 
Mary's  bright  brown  curls.  "  The  queen  of 
Spring!"  he  cried. 

"  Beautiful !"  said  Julia  and  Emma,  look- 
ing at  Mary. 

Bernard's  idea  found  so  much  favor,  that 
Rasinski,  slipping  a  few.  coins  into  the  hand 


vT 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


33 


of  the  flbwer-girl),  obtained  two  similar 
wreaths,  which  lie  presented  to  Emma  and 
Julia  ;  insisting  that  they  also  must  decorate 
themselves  in  the  same  way.  They  at  tirst 
declined,  blushingly  and  with  girlish  dread 
of  making  themt^elves  appear  singular  ;  bni. 
Mary  pressing  them  to  cottiply,  they  finally 
gave  in.  Yet  they  were  mainly  induced  to 
do  this  from  the  cir^mstance,  of  which  all 
now  first  became  ^aware  to  tiieir  surprise, 
that  they  found  themselves  quite  alone  among 
the  worksnen,  as  no  one  of  tlie  spectator» 
had  arrived  so  high  up.  For  this,  they  had, 
unknown  to  them,  to  thank  the  officers,  par- 
ticularly Ras^inski  ;  for  orders  had  been 
issued  to  admit  no  one  not  belonging  to  the 
court,  beyond  certain  limits  on  the  mountain  ; 
and  to  enforce  this,  sentries  had  been  posted 
on  the  inain-paih  ;  the  smaller  side-paths 
were  left  unguarded.  Two  sentries  were  at 
the  top,  but  as  Rasinski  wore  his  rich  uni- 
form, and  was  accompanied  by  two  young 
officers,  it  was  believed  by  the  soldierB  that 
he  had  the  amplest  right  and  privilege  to  re- 
main on  the  mountain. 

They  now  ascended  the  tower ;  Rasinski 
offered  his  arm  to  Mary,  to  assist  her  up  the 
narrow  st^ps.     It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
she  had  enjoyed  the  rich  prospect,  but  still 
its  beauty  aU^ays  gave  ner  renewed  pleas- 
ure.    Looking  away  over  the  dense  green- 
wood, which  hitlierto  had  barred  the  prospect, 
the  eye  wandered  over  the  tall,  graceful  tree- 
tops,  wavincr  to  and  fro  in  the   wind,  to  an 
alnK>8t  unlimited  distance.   The  greater  part 
of  the  surrounding  country  is  extended  in 
imdulating  hills,  crowned  with  growing  grain 
and  verdant  forest,  between  which  pictur- 
esque villages  and  towns  are  scattered  pro- 
fusely,    riiglier  ridges  of  mountain  rose  up 
around  this  beautiful  panorama,  like  the  rug- 
ged shores  of  a  placid  sea^  set  in  diamonds. 
The  broad  silvei  celt  of  the  Elbe,  divides  the 
landscape  into  two  distinct  parts.     The  eye 
dwells  deliglited  on  the  beautiful  images  re- 
flected by  the  river,  from  the  blue  misty  tow- 
ers and  steeples  of  Dresden,  ever  the  vine- 
yards of  Ijoschwitz,  to  the  rugged  mountain- 
peaks  of  Konigstein  and  Lilieustein.    In  the 
midst  of  this  tapestry,  woven  in  variegated 
colors,  stands  the  green  blooming  mountain 
itself,  with  its  now  gen'.le*,  now  abrupt  slopes 
and  dells,  as  the  heart  of  this  wide-reaching 
panorama.     To  the  charm  of  a.  wonder-in- 
spiring prospect,  it  unites  romantic  and  truly 
picturesque  views,*while  the  scenery  in  the 
distance  belongs  less  to  painting  than  poetry  ! 
While  all  were  engaged  admiring  the  scene, 
a  dark,  grey  cloud  arose  above  the  moun- 
tain.    At  the  same  time  a  hollow  murmur 
was  heard,  and  the  trees  of  the  forest-clad 
hills  were  seen  waving  and  tossing  to  and  fro. 
A  riolent  gust  of  wind  swept  round  the  tower,' 


and  by  the  suddeness  of  the  attack  came 
very  near  carrying  off  the  shawls  and  bon- 
nets of  the  ladies. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other,  perplexed 
and  anxious.  The  storm  threatened  to  be- 
come very  violent,  and  was  now  so  close 
upon  them,  that  escape  was  out  of  question. 
1  heir  situation  was,  therefore,  somewhat 
critical.  But  the  spectacle  in  the  meantime 
i^ssumed  so  interesting  a  character,  that  in 
some  measure  it  crowded  out  their  appre- 
hensions. The  black,  portentous  clouds 
rolled  up  in  heavy  masses  from  the  easterly 
horizon,  and  gradually  shrouded  the  moun- 
tain in  their  grey  mantle.  The  river, 
roughly  curled  b}  thfe  wind,  wound  its  dark 
way  under  the  vault  of  the  lowering  sky, 
reflecting  its  shadow  from  the  deep.  In  the 
west,  the  clear  light  of  the  purest  ether 
shone  from  under  the  beetling  clouds,  which, 
piled  together  before  the  sun's  di;«k,  were 
bordered  with  a  bright  fringe  of  gold. 

"Sublime!"  cried  Bernard,  "I  would 
willingly  give  a  dozen  clear,  sunshiny  days 
for  a  storm  like  fliis.  What  illuminations 
arc  thrown  npon  the  landscape  !  Night  and 
day  pitc%fd  together  in  sharp  contest  I  Look, 
how  the  Sonnenstein  still  shines  over  there 
near  Pima,  and  flashes  against  the  dark-blue 
clouds,  piling  up  behind  it.  And  the  white 
sails  there  on  the  Elbe,  which  float  avi'ay 
like  sea-gnlls  over  the  grey  flood;  the  craft 
really  leave  a  track  of  foam  behind  them." 

"  It  rains  hard  over  there,"  remarked  Louis, 
pointing  his  finger  to  a  certain  point.  •-, 
"  Where  ?"  asked  Mary. 
"  There,  on  the  right  from  the  Konigstein, 
where  you.  see  those  thick  grey  and  violet 
streaks  shooting  out  of  the  bosom  of  the 
cloud  toward  the  earth  ;  it  is  very  plain  that 
the  rain  is  drawing  more  and  more  towards 
the  west." 

"  Could  we  possibly  reach  Pillnitz,  before 
the  storm  breaks  out  in  earliest  ?  "  asked 
Mary. 

"  Hardly,"  answered  Louis  ;  "  and  I  would 
advise  no-one  to  make  the  attempt,  for  we  can 
all  find  shelter  here  in  the  little  vault  of  the 
tower,  which  they  certainly  will  open  to  us. 
But  perhaps  the  storm  may  pass  by  alto- 
gether, for  the  wind  seems  to  increa.se  so 
much,  that  it  may  easily  drive  the  clouds 
away  over  our  heads." 

And  so  indeed  it  was,  for  the  clouds,  torn 
in  pieces,  f-cuddcd  away  over  the  mountain- 
peak,  gathering  their  forces  together  on  the 
other  side  of  the  stream  in  a  more  compact 
array,  so  that  Louis'  prediction  seemed 
about  to  bo  verified.  While  they  were  yet 
talking  about  it,  a  horseman  came  at  a  full 
gallop  up  the  mountain  path.  He  brought 
the  intelligence  to  the  head-gardener  that 
the  ascent  by  torch-light  had  been  suddenly 


:M. 


t.  '■t  v^iv^fm 


34 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


postponed,  and  that  consequently,  all  prepa- 
rations for  the  reception  of  the  august  party 
were  to  be  discontinued.  The  workmen, 
on  receiving  this  warning,  hurried  to  put  on 
their  laid-aside  garments.  The  flower  girls 
threw  their  handkerchiefs  over  their  heads, 
and  hastened  down  the  mountain. 

These    proceedings,  and    especially    the 
flight  of  the  women,  naturally  excited  appre- 
hension in   the  minds  of  the  young  girls. 
Mary  suggested   that  they  might  reach  a 
shelter,  as  well  ^s  the  others,  and  perhaps 
there  might  be  some  dwelling  in  the  neigh- 
borhood  to    rec^ve   them.      Louis  quickly 
ran  down  the  stairs  of  the  tower  to  enquire 
of  the»head-gardener.    The  latter  was  busily 
engaged  in  having  the  tent  ^ruck  and  the 
implements  used  in  its  erection,  put  awsty  in 
the  vault  of  the  tower.     To  Louis'  question 
he  answered,  that  they  certainly  might  yet 
reach  Pillnitz  in  safety,  as  the  passage  down 
the   mountain   could  be   made   with   much 
more  despatch  than   up ;   and  besides,  the 
weather  here  on   the   summit,  wliere  they 
overlooked  the  entire  horizon,  always  sgemed 
more  threatening  and  imminenlj^han  it  ac- 
tually was.     An  hour  might  yet  pass  Ijefore 
tJie  rain  would  cpme.     But  if  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen   should   prefer  to  remain  where 
they  were,  he  would  willingly  give  them  the 
key  to  the  little  narrow  room  in  the  tower  ; 
this   however,  being  now  filled   with    tools 
chairs  and  tables,  was  hardly   capable  of 
holding  even  a  few  persons. 

Louis  thankfully  accepted  the  offer,  and 
promised  carefully  to  lock  the  door,  and  to 
leave  the  key  in  Pillnitz.     However  experi- 
enced the   gardener  might  be,  it  appeared 
now    that  he    had   deceived   himself  with 
regard  to  the  proximity  of  the  storm.     Louis 
wished  at  least  to  leave  it  to  the  choice  of 
the  ladies  v;hether  they  would  rather  return, 
than  abide  in  the  not  very  pleasant  asylum 
offered.      lie  took   the   key,  therefore,  and 
hastened  up  the  steps,  to  lay  the  matter  be- 
fore them.     The  votes  were  divided.     The 
men,  especially   Bernard,  were  strongly  in 
favor  of  remaining,  as  evidently  no  place  of 
refuse  could  be  gained  before  the  out-break- 
ing of  the  storm  in  all  its  fury.     The  ladies 
were  disposed  to  commence   an  immediate 
descent,  mainly  from  a  consideration  of  the 
anxiety    which   their  mothers    must  suffer 
from  their  non-appearance.      Their  voices 
being  entitled  to  the  greatest  share  of  regard, 
it  was  resolved  to  depart.     But  as    Mary, 
conducted  by  Rasinski,  placed  her  foot  on 
the  topmost  step  of  ilie  steep  and  narrow 
stairs,  a  flash  of  ligfitning  seemed  to  set  all 
in  a  blaze.     Mary,  l)linded  and  terrified  by 
tlie  shock,  drew  hastily  back,  but  her  foot 
slipped,  and,  but  for  Rasinski  guickly  seiz- 
ing her,  she  might  have  had  a  terrible  fall ; 


at  least,  so  imminent  seemed  the  danger, 
that  Emma  and  Julia,  who  saw  her  totter, 
rushed  towards  her,  uttering  a  piercing  cry 
of  terror.  But  Mary  had  quickly  recovered 
herself. 

Rasinski  supported  her  very  carefully, 
and  helped  her  down  with  great  caution. 
When  they  had  reached  tlie  ground,  he  first 
noticed  that  she  walked  with  some  difficulty. 
"  The  foot  pviins  me  a  little,"  she  answered, 
on  his  questioning  her,  "  but  it  will  soon  be 
over."  She  tried  to  command  some  twinges 
of  pain  and  to  step  boldly  ;  but  she  was  una- 
ble to  do  so  ;  the  foot  doubled  under  her,  and 
she  had  to  hold  firmly  to  Rasinski  to  avoid 
sinking  to  the  ground. 

"  I  shall  have  to  await  the  storm  hero,** 
she  said ;  "  for  I  cannot  possibly  hurry 
down." 

"  Not  evep  if  I  support  you  on  the  other 
side,  dear  Mary  ?"  asked  Louis,  taking  her 
right  ami. 

Alary  .essayed  a  few  steps,  and  then  said, 
while  the  strug^e  against  pain  was  plainly 
seen  in  her  features,  "  I  believe  not  even  so." 

"Let  us  carry  her  down,"  cried  Bernard 
with  energy. 

"  No.  no,"  said  Mary,  with  a  placid  smile, 
accompanied  by  a  deprecating  motion  of  the 
hand  ;  "  I  can  very  well  stay  here ;  Louis 
will  stay  with  me." 

"  Then  we  will  all  stay,'' cried  Julia  reso- 
lutely, which  resolution  Emma  immediately 
seconded. 

"  I  really  think  it  will  be  the  best  thing  we 
can  do,"  said  Louis,  "  for  the  rain  begins  to 
fall.  Probably  it  will  soon  be  p\^er,  as  it  sets 
in  with  such  violence." 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

The  last  remaining  workmen  had  now 
left  the  place :  the  head-gardener  was  already 
gone.  Louis,  who  still  had  the  key,  was 
therefore  fully  at  liberty  to  make  his  arrange- 
ments in  the  tower.  He  opened  the  narrow 
receptacle,  which  being  filled  with  tables, 
chairs,  tent-poles,  and  many  other  articles 
piled  up  in  disorder,  hardly  allowed  the  en- 
trance of  so  many  persona,  much  less  any 
convenience  or  comfort.  The  gentlemen  set 
vigorously  to  work  to  procure  more  room  by 
putting  things  together  in  a  more  compact 
order ;  they  succeeded  finally,  so  that  they 
could  place  eight  chairs  together  for  the 
eight  individuals  present;  the  door  had  to  be 
left  open  to  admit  air  and  light,  for  it  was 
impracticable  to  effect  a  side-cpenlng,  as  the 
windows  were  placed  so  high  up.    They 


NAPOLEON'S  TNTASION  XJF  HUSSIA. 


35 


•were  just  in  time  witli  the  completion  of  the 
arrangement.  Large  drops  of  rain  were  fall- 
ing, and  the  wind  lulled.  A  loud  cls^p  of 
thunder  just  above  the  heads  of  the  party 
seemed  to  tear  the  heavy  clouds  into  shreds, 
and  to  open  the  windows  of  heaven.  Big 
pattering  hail-stooes  intermixed  with  sleet, 
camt'  down  with  the  pouring  rain.  The  ten- 
der foliage  of  the  trees  was  torn  from  the 
branches  with  desolating  vehemence.  The 
refugees  might  indeed  congratulate  them- 
-selves  that  tiey  had  not  ventured  on  the  de- 
scent. The  three  young  girls  sat  together 
pale  and  silent.  Mary  suffered  great  pain ; 
sitting  between  Julia  and  Emma,  she  leaned 
gently  against  the  latter,  while  the  former 
affectionately  held  one  of  her  hands. 

The  greatest  violence  of  the  storm  endured 
for  about  half  an  hour,  when  it  began  to 
abate ;  the  lightning  became  less  vivid,  and 
the  rain,  though  yet  pouring  fast,  had  in 
some  measure  moderated. 

The  girls  laegan  to  breathe  freer,  and  ^n- 

'  joyed  the  pleasurable  sensation  experienced 

after  the  passing  away  of  inconvenience  or 

of  danger,  which  in  generous  minds  always 

awakens  a  sweet  emotion. 

Bernard  exclaimed  :  "  It  is  too  close  here 
in  this  cage;  k  must  have  some  fresh  air!" 
With  these  words  he  sprang  out  in  the  open 
air,  wheie  the  refreshing  spring-shower,  now 
falling  only  like  a  silvery  mist,  soon  cooled 
his  glowing  cheeks.  Louis  also  stepped  out. 
They  .proceeded  together  to  the  other  side  of 
the  tower,  from  whence  they  had  a  more 
open  prospect. 

"It  will  rain  this  way  for  twenty-four 
hours  yet,"  said  Bernard ;  "  but  listen  to 
what  I  would  say.  Thou  hast  a  sister,  who 
is  worth  more  than  thou  and  I  put  together. 
Certes,  she  is  not  so  bad,  for  a  v/oman,  and 
I  believe  loves  thee  better  than  thoti  dese-rv- 
est.  Tears  have  always  been  iny  decided 
aversion  ;  that  is,  in  my  own  peepers,  else  I 
would  not  go  bail  that  I  would  loolj  upon 
thee  with  so  friendly  an  eye." 

"  There  is  a  tear  in  thine  eye,  now,"  said 
Louis,  "  which  thou  needest  not  be  asham- 
ed of." 

"All  fudge  and  nonsense,  man!"  cried 
Bernard  v«xedly ;  "  nothing  but  a  drop  of 
rain  that  fell  on  my  cheek.  I  tell  thee,  that 
tears  in  a  man's  eye  are  as  al)horreHt  to  me 
us  a  trooper's  03.tli,  or  mustaches  on  the  lips 
of  a  girl ;  I  do  not  even  like  to  see  women 
weep,  for  it  is  contagious;  hut  only  the 
reality,  understand  ;  lor  I  will  not  deny  that 
I  love  to  sketch  female  countenances  ia  sor- 
row, and  can  prove  it  on  tlie  spot." 

So  sayin?,  he  drew  forth  a  sketch-book 
with   parchmrnt  leaves,  which   he   always 
carried  about  him. 
"  In  this  little  book,"  he  said,  "  there  is 


many  a  face  worth  looking  at,  though  blue 
eyes  do  not  always  exhibit  the  smile  of  the 
placid  blue  sky.  Thy  sister  should  most 
assuredly  be  added,  were  it  not  that  the  un- 
lucky rain  prohibits  one  from  doing  any 
thing.  In  feet,  I  should  like  to  sketch  the 
entire  group.;  even  that  god  of  war,  Rasin- 
ski,  who  like  the  majestic  eagle,  shelters  the 
three  doves  under  his  wing." 

"  I  &m  glad  that  thou  hast  the  sketches 
with  thee,"  replied  Louis,  "  for  I  am  afraid 
we  shall -have  a  tedious  rain,  and  expectation 
deferred  makes  the  time  seem  doubly  long. 
If  then  we  can  beguile  tfn  hour  with  the 
■ladies,  it  would  be  a  great  thing  indeed.  Let 
us'  go  in  and  show  your  book  to  the  girls." 

'iWe  have  examined  the  weather,"  began 
tLouis,  as  they  regained  the  company;  "  the 
rain  will  gradually  exhaust  itself.  In  tl^ 
mean  time  our  friend  Bernard  will  amuse 
us  with  his  fiketch-book,  and  thus  we  shall 
finally  be  the  gainers  by  our  misfortunes." 

"  And  are  not  the  dealings  of  Providence 
ever  thus  ?"  said  Mary,  with  a  smile. 

"  CertjMtily,"  Bernard  answered,  "  and  I 
will  endeavor  particularly  to  profit  by  them  ; 
For  if  I  am  to  exhibit  my  little  portfolio,  it 
would  bdHmpracticable  to  have  it  pass  from 
hand  to  hand  at  the  turning  over  of  every 
leaf,  so  I  must  be  the  interpreter.  I  must 
therefore  beg  of  you  to  obey  my  directions  for 
a  mon^nt,  while  I  make  such  arrangements 
as  shall  secure  to  me  the  most  enviable 
place." 

All  were  willJKg  to  yield  to  this  pream- 
ble. Bernard  then  placed  four  chairs  in  a 
row,  the  light  one  nearest  the  door.  Here 
he 'made  Mary  take  her  seat,  took  his  own 
nest  to  her,  •and  placed  £mnia  and  Julia  on 
his  left.  The  remaining  four  gentlemen 
took-standing  .places  behind.  ^ 

"  WeH,"  said  Bernard,  "  I  aga  going  to 
begin  ;  but-one  thing  I  must  stipulate.  You 
may  ask  any  thing  you  please  about  men, 
landscapes,  about  names,  condition  and  loca- 
tion ;  but  the  female  heads  must  remain 
incog.,  for  really  I  cannot  allow  every  body 
to  look  into  secrets  of  this  kind." 

All  acquiesced  in  this  law,  and  with  great 
alacrity  commenced  examining  the  sketches. 
Most  of  them,  like  the  painter  himself,  were 
bold  and  animated,  taking  their  character 
from  a  few  fearless  touches,  more  prominent 
and  sharp  than  carefully  filled  up,  and  sel- 
dom ornamental  or  elegant.  But  withal  he 
had  shown  the  more  delicate  graces  of  his 
pencil.  The  contents  of  the  book  consisted 
of  sketches,  romantic  clusters  of  rocks, 
groups  of  trees,  now  and  then  an  entire  land- 
scape ;  interspersed,  were  characteristic 
heads  nlf  various  nations,  Norwegian  fisher- 
men, a  hunter  of  the  eider-duck,  a  dairy  of 
reindeers ;  and  such, like.  In  fine,  every  thing 


■  .'^T^T^' J 


'A 


EIGJITEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


was  striking  and  characteristic,  and  owing 
to  llie  nature  of  tlie  objects,  uncommonly  at- 
tractive. 

"  You  will  observe,"  said  Bernard,  turn- 
ing leaf  after  leaf,  "  this  highlander  with  Jivs 
daugliter ;  the  sketch  behind  them  is  a  part 
of  '  Loch  liatrine.'  Civilization  now  ad- 
vances with  every  leaf,  for  before  long  we 
will  find  ourselves  in.  the  midst  of  the  best 
London  society.  Look  ;  there  is,  as  I  live,  a 
lady,  whom  1  sketched  by  stealih,  as  she  sat 
on  llie  terrace  in  front  of  her  cottage  orn«ie, 
whiJe  I  was  hid  in  an  elder  bush." 

They  went  on  turning  over  the  lea\«e8. 
Some  caricatures  followed  next,  then  some 
pretty  country-girl,  perhaps.  Finally  they 
were  in  Loudon.  As  he  had  already  said, 
Bernard  passed  by  the  female  figures  with- 
out comment.  Here  and  there  was  found  a 
sweet  modest  English  ftice  among  the  wanton 
and  debauched. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  1"  cried  Mary,  as  Ber- 
hard  turned  over  a  new.  leaf,  "how  very 
beautiful  I" 

Rcisinski  stooped  over-  Mary's  shoulder, 
his  attention  being  clmllenged  holier  excla- 
mation. Almost  in  amazement,  he  cried  also : 
"  By  heavens  !  a  chnrnaing  head." 

"Indescribably  !  "  chimed  in  Mary  ;  "  but 
who  is  she  ?  This  one  you  must  inform  us 
about." 

"  But  what  if  I  had  laid  down  my  rule  pre- 
cisely on  account  of  this  head  ?"  answered 
Bernard;  "it  is  not  so,  certainly,  yet  lam 
obliged  to  adhere  to  it.  I  purloined  this  face, 
as  Prometheus  did  the  divine  spark  from 
heaven,  at  the  King's  Theatre  in  London. 
It  was  there  I  stole  this  head,  with  its  soft, 
passionate  beauty." 

"  Oh,  how  affecting  those  tears  are  !"'said 
Mary. 

LotIs,  who,  not  to  incommode  Rasinski, 
had  hitherto  kept  himself  behind,  now  leaned 
over  to  look  at  the  portrait.  To  his  amaze- 
ment, he  recognised — the  likeness  cf  Bianca. 
An  involuntary,  lialf-smothered  cry  escaped 
liis  lips. 

"  And  could  you  really  not  learn  anything 
about  her  ?"  Mary  repeated.  "  Such  a  lovely 
being  could  not  remain  unknown  even  in 
that  great  Babylon  of  the  world." 

"  Upon  my  word  [  know  nothing,"  answer- 
ed Bernard.  "  I  made  some  effort,  it  is  true, 
but  with  very  bad  success ;  how,  I  will  tell 
you  directly.  The  mild  dignity  of  that  coun- 
tenance, the  unspeakably  touching  grief 
therein  depicted — for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
achieved  only  a  caricature  of  the  original — 
made  me  almost — why  should  I  not  acknow- 
ledge it — well  nigh  delirious,  as  I  sat  on  my 
seat  in  the  pit.  I  would  have  that  face,  I' 
vowed  irrevocably  to  myself;  but  how  should 
I  take  it  without  attracting  attention  ?    My 


next  neighbor  was  a  merchant,  who  for  at. 
long  period  had  resided  in  Constantinople, 
and  had  there  become  somewhat  addicted  to 
the  use  of  oriental  tropes  and  figures  of 
speech.  We  happened  to  be  sUghtly  ac- 
quainted. This  man  noticed  that  I  kept) 
looking  steadfastly  at  a  certaiij),  box  in  the 
first  tier,  instead  of  on  the  stage,  thougli 
Juliet,  on  the  stage,  had  just  taken  her  fare- 
well of  Romeo.  He  said:  'That  is  a  face 
worth  painting,  sir  ;  especially  when  out  of 
the  blue  heavens  of  her  eyes  the  moi.<t  pearls 
of  its  dewy  essence  glitters  among  the  rose- 
buds of  her  cheeks.'  She  was  at  the  time, 
you  will  observe-, shedding  the  sweetest  tears 
I  ever  beheld.  '  Yes,  yes,  indeed,  by  Jove  !' 
said  I ;  '  but  where,  £(^d'  how  ?'  '  Up  there 
is  an  empty  box,'  be  whispered,  'which  affords 
the  best  possible  point  ol  view  ;  if  you  enter 
that,  and  leave  tlieVoor  of  the  lobby  a  little 
aslant,  it  v.ull  admit  just  so  much  liglit  to  fall 
upon  your  leaf  as  you  need,  and  you  your- 
self remain  concealed  m  the  .';iiadow.' 

"  I  made  all'  speed  .to  follov/  this  advice. 
My  position  was  pcrtoctly  favorable;  Isatin 
the  recess  of  the  box  quite  unobserved,  look- 
ing that  divine  creature  right  in  the  face, 
while  her  suflused  eyes  v.  ere  steadily  direct- 
ed toward  the  stage.  Tlie  deliyhlfut  robbery 
succeeded  as  adrnirably  as  ft  was  possible  in 
such  circumstances.  Absorbed  in  mv  task, 
I  had  not  noticed  that  some  one  had  entered 
the  bo.x.  All  at  once,  a  harsh,  disagreeable 
voice  called  out:  '  Sir  !'^ — I  started; — 'One 
word  with  you,  sir  \*  said  the  voice,  which 
belonged  to  a  man  of  about  thirty,  wiio 
beckoned  me  to  come  out  into  the  corridor. 
I  perceived  what  the  thing  meant,  and  of 
course  fbllowed  him.  The  unknown  pre- 
ceded me  into  the  street.  When  tliere,  he 
began  questioning  me  about  what  right  I  had 
to  take  the  portrait  of  a  lady  without  her 
knowledge,  and  so  forth.  I  gave  him  short 
answers,  and  we  got  quite  warm.  The  up- 
shot of  it  was,  that  a  meeting  was  appointed 
for  the  next  morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  jn" 
Hyde  Park.  The  stranger  then  left  me, 
without  again  entering  the  theatre  ;  I,  on  the 
contrary,  retraced  my  steps  to  my  box,  in 
order  to  give  the  portrait  a  few  more  touches. 
But  it  was  only  to  find  the  one  opposite 
entirely  deserted.  The  beautiful  creature 
had  vanished.  I  asked  the  door-keeper. — 
'They  have  just  left  in  their  carriage,'  was 
the  answer,  but  he  knew  nothing  itbout  who 
they  were.  I  hastened  down  into  the  pit,  to 
my  merchant.  He  was  no  longer  there.  ^\y 
only  consolation  now  was  the  meeting  i:i 
Hyde  Park,  where  I  hoped  at  least  to  learu 
the  name  of  my  antagonist.  At  half-past 
seven,  punctually,  I  was  there  ;  but  if  I  had 
stood  there  till  this  hour,  I  believe  no  one 
would  have  come.     In  fhort,  I  lof,;  every 


UAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


37 


trace,  for  even  (he  merchant  did  the  same 
day  saddenly  sail  for  the  Levant,  without  my 
being  able  to  see  him.  1  liave  since  shown 
the  lilteness  to  intimate  friends,  but  no  one 
knows  it.  In  vain  did  I  frequent  all  the 
theatres  of  liondon  every  night  for  three 
months — never  missing  a  representation  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet;  but  never  have  I  suc- 
ceeded in  discovering  the  least  trace  or  track 
of  my  beautiful  incognito." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Bernard's  narrative  had  so  fully  rivetted 
=die  attention  of  every  one,  that  it  was  not 
observed  that  the  rain  had  in  the  meantime 
re-commenced,  and  that  the  darkness  of  night 
■began  to  spread  around  them. 

Mary  now  first  became  aware  of  it,  and 
began  to  fefl  some  little  anxiety.  She  tried 
if  she  were  able  to  v/alk,  and  would  in  that 
case  boldly  face  the  weather ;  but  she  found 
it  impracticable  ;  the  foot  was  swollen  very 
much,  and  she  suffered  acute  pain.  Louis, 
suffering  under  hk  recent  shock,  stood  buried 
in  deep  thought,  Mary  gently  took  his 
hand,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  What  shall  we  do  now,  dear  brother  3 
We  are  truly  in  a  predicament ;  I  feel  that  I 
cannot  walk  down,  even  if  the  weather  should 
clear  off." 

Louis  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"  Now  that  the  storm  has  set  in  again,  the 
matter  is  easily  decided.  1  will  go  down, 
and  will  send  up  the  carriage  for  you.  I  am 
so  uneasy  that  I  really  long  for  a  cooling 
shower  ;  and  it  is  high  time,  else  night  will 
set  in  before  the  carriage  comes  up." 

A  contention  now  arose  among  the  young 
men,  who  should  be  the  one  to  accompany 
Louis.  He  himself  would  have  bee^  clad  tp 
take  Bernard  with  him,  so  as  to  question  him 
touching  Bianca  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it 
seemed  to  him  more  proper  that  as  an  older 
friend  of  the  house,  he  should  staj',  so  tlwit 
the  three  gii'ls  would  not  be  left  alone  with 
the  officefs.  He  therefore  declined  all  com- 
pany, though  Rasinski  and  his  military 
friends  offered  their  services. 

"It  is  entirely  unnecessary,"  said  Louis, 
as  they  pressed  liim  with  friendly  importu- 
nity. "One  is  quite  sufficient;  why,  then, 
trouble  two  persons  aboKt  it  ?" 

Without  farther  parley,  then,  he  left,  pro- 
mising that  in  about  an  hour's  time  the  car- 
riage should  be  tliere  to  take  them  away. 

The  stipulated  time  passed  amidst  some 
anxiety ;  for,  after  their  natural  protector 


and  kinsman  had  left  them,  the  girls  began 
distinctly  to  feel  the  awkwardness  of  their 
position. 

The  rain  kept  pouring  down  furiously  ;  a 
grey  fog  rolled  itself  around  the  mountain  ; 
gradually  it  grew  quite  dark.  An  hour  had 
now  elapsed.  Mary  lioped  every  minute  to 
hear  the  carriage  coming.  She  listened  in- 
tensely to  every  noise,  in  the  b<:)pe  of  hearing 
the  crack  of  a  wWp.  By-and-bye  she  became 
quite  uneasy  ;  half  an  hour  beyond  the  time 
fixed  had  passed  away  without  any  sign  of 
the  wished-for  succor. 

Night  had  now  fully  sot  inr.  Even  cal- 
culating on  the  rain  and  the  beclouded  state 
of  the  sky,  it  must  be  quite  late.  Mary  now 
and  then  asked  Bernard,  in  a  low  tone,  what 
o'clock  it  was  ;  at  first  lie  gave  her  delusive 
answets,  but  finally  told  her  that  he  no  longer 
could  see  the  time  by  his  watch. 

Mary  was  not  disquieted  by  their  own  situa- 
tion alone ;  she  began  nov/  to  tremble  f  >t  the 
safety  of  others.  Had  anything  happened  to 
Louis,  or  to  her  mother  ?  To  this  was  added 
the  pain  of  her  foot,  which  had  gradually 
become  so  intense  as  to  produce  a  slight 
fever. 

Neither  Bernard,  nor  the  other  men,  could 
shut  theif  eyes  to  the  conviction  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  must  have  happened,  for 
two  hours  had  now  elapsed  since  Louis  had 
departed.  They  began,  therefore,  to  delib- 
erate among  themselves  what  was  to  be  done, 
and  whether  duty  to  their  fi^nd  ditJ  not  re- 
quire them  seriously  to  investigate  the  mat- 
ter. Bernard  considered  it  best  to  make  a 
clean  breast,  so  as  not  to  inorease  the  alarna 
of  the  girls  by  a  mysterious  heiritancy,  which, 
after  ail,  conld  not  be  maintstined.  All 
agreed  in  this.  He  therefore  told  Mary 
plainly  that  he  began  to  feel  uneasy  himself, 
and  considered  it  a  duty  to  make  searsli  after 
Louis. 

Mary. responded  by  a  pressure  pf  the  hand, 
for  it  had  weighed  on  her  heart  a  great  v/hile 
to  beg  of  the  gentlemen  the  very  .service 
which  they  ueiv  voluntarily  offered.  But  she 
shrunk  from  it, both  because  they  might  look 
upon  her  alarm  as  groundless,  and  because 
she  thought  it  would  be  asking  too  much 
from  them. 

Bernard,  beinj^  be.st  acquainted  v.ith  the 
road,  under-took,  with  Jaromir,  to  go  down; 
Rasinski,  as  beinjj  the  oldest  amon<r«them, 
staid  behind  to  protect  the  ladies,  and  kept 
Boleslaus  by  him,  as  it  was  problematical 
whether  Mary's  condition  would  not  require 
two  men's  help, 

Bernard  and  Jaromir  started.  They  pro- 
mised that,  happen  what  mitrht,  they  would 
bring  of  send  inielligence.  Though  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents,  and  they  could  not  see  a  hand 
before  them,  the  travellers  found  little  difli- 
culty  at  first  in  following  the  right  track 


38 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR', 


They  reached  the  ruin  without  accident,  and 
already  thought  themselves  quite  Hear  their 
destination,  when  all  at  once  they  found 
themselves  away  from  the  road,  floundering 
througli  the  long,  thick  grass.  They  sought 
to  regain  the  path,  but  in  vain.  Not  to  lose 
time,  they  resolved  to  press  right  ahead,  down 
through  brush-wood,  high  grass  or  grain,  as 
they  could  not  fail  of  the  main  bearing  of  the 
way.  This,  however,  was  not  so  easily 
done ;  first,  they  found  themselves  impeded 
by  a  pretty  wide  and  deep  ditch,  which  the 
rain  had  filled,  and  after  they  finally  effected 
a  passage  ovtr  that,  were  brought  up  all 
standing  against  a  thick  and  prickly  hedge. 
They  had  to  grope  their  way  along  the  hedge 
the  best  way  they  could,  to  find  an  opening, 
or  eUe  an  end  to  it ;  but  were  suddenly 
checked  by  another  fence  running  at  angles 
with  the  first,  which  compelled  them  to  begin 
climbing  up  the  mountain  again.  Fortu- 
nately, Bernard  discovered  a  spot  where  they 
could  easily  get  over  the  fence.  After  doing 
this,  ihoy  perceived  a  light  at  some  distance, 
which  appeared  as  if  proceeding  from  one  of 
the  out-buildings  belonging  to  the  palace. 
Could  they  only  rea>ch  that,  they  would,  easily 
find  the  inn.  They  soon  noticed,  however, 
that  the  light  waa  not  stationary,  but  moved 
towards  them ;  they  saw  people  with  two 
lanterns.  Rejoiced  to  fall  in  with  some  one, 
they  proceeded  to  meet  them,  and  soon  step- 
ped on  tlje  trodden  path  on  which  the  others 
were  approacMlng.  Bernard  and  Jaromir 
being  concealed  by  the  darkness,  and  the 
other  party  exposed  by  the  light  from  the 
lanterns,  there  was  no  difficulty  to  discern, 
even  at  a  distance,  that  it  was  composed  of 
two  French  gens  d'armes,  probably  conveying 
a  prisoner. 

Bernard,  in  his  roamings  through  life,  had 
learned  to  exercise  cauiion  ;  and  to  Jaromir, 
in  his  calling  as  an  officer  of  light  dragoons, 
it  had  become,  as  it  were,  a  second  nature 
always  to  observe  the  tactics  of  a  patrol 
when  in  the  dark.  A  mutual  nudge  was  all 
that  was  necessary,  flierefor'e,  to  induce  them 
to  suffer  the  people  with  the  lanterns  first  to 
come  nearer,  and  to  scrutinise  them  from 
some  dark  nook  by  the  wayside.  Judge  their 
amazement,  as  the  gens  d'armes  drew  "nearer, 
to  discover  Louis  walking  between  them — a 
surprise  not  at  all  relieved  by  Bernard  recog- 
nising in  a  fourth  person^  closely  wrapped 
up  in  a  large  foul-weather  cloak,  and  also 
carrying  a  lantern,  the  identical  individual 
on  horseback  whom  they  had  encountered 
in  the  j>arden  that  afternoon  ! 

A  slight  pressure  of  the  hand  was  suffi- 
cient to  keep  the  younj;  men  perfectly  still. 
Holding  their  breath,  and  standing  close  to 
ff!p  nnnti  of  a  tree,  they  let  the  party  pass 
by  aoout  fifty  paces  in  advance,  when  they 
fallowed   them   very  cautiously,  the   feeble 


light  thrown  back  from  the  lanterns  assisting 
tliem  materially  in  keeping  unseen.  Ber- 
nard had  too  much  confidence  in  Louis,  and 
had  known  him  too  long,  not  to  suspect  at 
once  that  there  must  either  be  some  egregious 
mistake,  or,  as  in  those  days,  alas  !  was  but 
too  common,  some  political  move  or  villany 
at  the  bottom  ;  which  last,  in  fact,  appeared 
the  most  likely,,  from  the  presence  and  co- 
operation of  the  ubiquitous  stranger.  This 
idea  fi"xed  itself  so  strongly  in  his  mind,  that 
lie  determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  liberate 
Louis  from  his  sudden  captivity.  In  those, 
times,  the  only  possible  means  of  rescuing 
the  victim  from  the  grasp  of  the  minions  iu 
power,  was  to  seize  the  very  first  moment  to 
deliver  him,  when  probably  he  might  bo 
saved,  and  remain  unmolested  thereafter.  He 
whispered,  therefore,  to  Jaromir  : 

"1  am  afraid  there  is  some  villanous  plot 
going  on.  Could  we  only  at  this  instant 
manage  to  rescue  our  friend  from  the  hands 
of  these  men,  we  would  soon  find  means  to 
save  him  from  farther  harm.  Will  you  assist 
me  in  the  enterprise  1" 

Jaromir,  well  knowing  what  risk  he  in- 
curred by  meddling  with  a  guard,  especially 
with  the  almost  sacred  persons  of  the  frenctv 
gens  d'armes,  viewed  the  undertaking  very 
questionably  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  felt 
so  strong  a  friendship  fo(|  Louis,  that  he 
thought  lie  could  not  refuse ;  he  possessed,, 
besides,  that  buoyant  quality  of  youth  vvhicli 
scans  only  the  surface  in  calculating  the  con- 
sequences of  actions,  or  may  be  it  was  merely 
a  deeply-engraved  trait  of  the  Polish  charac- 
ter, which  boldly  rushes  into  a  daring  scheme,, 
and  either  will  not,  or  cannot  stop  to  weigh 
the  issue.  He  gave  his  hearty  assent  to  "the 
proposal. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Bernard, "  you  perceive 
the  road  is  elevated ;  here,  on  the  right  of 
us,  runs  a  small  ditch  along  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  deep  enough,  I'll  warrant,  to  keep  the 
fellow  who  falls  into  it  floundering  about  for 
some  lime  •,  on  the  1<  It.the  road  slopes  down. 
Now,  if  we  softly  follow  the  gens  d'armes, 
and  suddenly  rush  upon  them,  we  can  tumble 
one  into  the  ditch,  the  other  down  the  slope, 
and  then  together  topple  over  the  man  in  the 
big  cloak.  We  shall  in  this  way  gain  time 
enough  to  make  our  escape  with  I^ouis." 

There  was  no  need  for  farther  parley.  On 
tiptoe,  but  swiftly,  t.he  two  friends  followed 
the  party  conducting  the  prisoner;  unper- 
ceived,  they  approached  within  ten  steps  of 
them.  Louis  walked,  as  before,  between  the 
two  gens  d'armes,  the  one  on  the  left  tread- 
ing close  to  the  edge  of  the  path,,  and  the 
other  to  the  right,  near  the  ditch.  A  few 
paces  in  advance  was  the  man  in  the  cloak 
with  the  lantern. 

"  1  take  the  one  to  the  right,"  whisnered 
Bernard.    "Now  I"     . 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


With  the  impetuosity  of  the  war-steed,  the 
spirited  assailants  rushed  on  together,  at  the 
same  limo  raising  a  horrible  cry.  Before 
the  gens  d'armes  could  turn  round,  the  two 
runners  charged  upon  them  witii  such  irre- 
sistible force  that  they  dropt  right  and  left, 
as  their  assailants  intended.  According  to 
the  preconcerted  plan,  the  young  men  were 
now  about  to  rush  upon  the  suspicious 
stranger  ;  buf  he  saved  them  the  trouble,  for 
he  no  sooner  heard  the  shout  than  he  hurled 
the  lantern  far  from  him,  and  ran  with  all  his 
might  down  the  road.  Bernard  did  not  think 
it  best  to  pursue  him,  but  cried  hastily  to 
Louis,  who  stood  transfixed  with  astonish- 
ment : 

"  We  are  your  good  friends  ;  fly  wifh  us 
for  your  life  !" 

Louis,  recognising  his  deliverers,  did  not 
tarry  ;  the  lantern  of  the  gens  d'armes  having 
been  extinsuished  in  its  fall,  favored  their 
singular  escape  by  an  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. 

The  three  young  men  now  hurried  back 
in  the  dark,  on  the  way  they  had  come. 
Bernard,  at  a  full  run,  called  out  to  the 
others  to  follow  him. 

They  had  already  run  a  good  piece,  when 
they  heard  two  shots  fired  behind  them. 
These  procee  led  from  the  gens  d'armes,  who 
discharjred  their  carbines  in  the  direction  of 
the  fugitives. 

"  Fire  away  !"  cried  Bernard  ;  "  we  don't 
even  hear  the  whizzing  of  your  balls,  much 
less  do  they  hit  us  !" 

From  the  distance  of  the  shots,  as  well  as 
from  the  time  elapsed  before  they  had  been 
fired,  the  runners  might  with  safety  conclude 
that  they  were  now  perfectly  secure.  S:ill 
they  continued  their  route  with  all  possible 
speed.  They  came  to  a  side  path  leading  to 
the  left  up  t!ie  mountain,  which  Bernard  fol- 
lowed ;  having  ascended  about  a  hundred 
paces,  he  said : 

"  Let  us  go  slower,  or  else  we  shall  lose 
breath  and  strength  ! — for  the  present  wje  are 
safe ;  but  don't  speak." 

They  now  clambered  np  the  path  in  silence. 
Bernard  listened  now  and  then  to  detect  if 
they  W3re  pursued.  All  was  still.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  when  they  had  reached  a 
thickly-grown  spot  of  brush-wood,  they  eould 
reasonably  consider  themselves  clear  from 
all  harm.' 

"  What  are  wo  to  do  now  ?"  he  ^sked,  as 
he  came  to  a  halt. 

"  First  of  all,"  said  Louis,  eagerly  seizing 
the  hands  of  his  companions,  "  accept  my 
warmest  thanks,  dearest  friends.  But  ex- 
plain to  me  how  you  became  aware  of  my 
arrest,  and  by  what  miracle  you  have  effected 
ray  rescue." 

Bernard  .then  related  the  accidental  dis- 


covery,  and  explained  the  secret  motives  of 
his  resolution.  " 

"  You  are  indeed  both  my  friends,"  replied 
Louis,  much  moved  ;  "  for  I  believe  that  I 
was  near  my  destruction.  But  what  have 
you  not  ventured  !"  he  ad^ded,  with. appre- 
hension, as  he  embraced  them  both  warmly, 

"  Ventured  ?"  said  Bernard  ;  "  nothing 
that  I  am  aware  oft  The  whole  affair,  at 
the  worst,  is  only  a  student's  freak,  for  which 
they  cannot  hang  u«,  even  if  they  should  ap- 
prehend us.  But  how  can  that  be  ?  Who 
knows,  or  suspects  us  ?  We  might  now 
boldly  run  right  under  the  noses  of  the  two 
gens  d'armes,  and  neither  of  them  would  be  the 
wiser  on  the  score  of  knowing  to  wliom  they 
are  indebted  for  the  bath  in  the  mud-puddle. 
But  what  could  have  induced  them  to  lay 
their  hands  on  you,  Louis  ?" 

"  The  tale  is  wonderful  enough,  and  yet, 
an  enigma  to  myself.  It  is  so  involved  that 
I  had  rather  teJl  it  to  you  more  at  leisure,  at 
some  other  opportunity." 

"  Very  well ;"  Bernard  answered.  •'  But 
still  we  must  know  the  leading  points  now, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  act  upon  them  and  to 
determine  where  you  may  be  safest.  Can 
you,  do  you  think,  return  to  Dresden  without 
danger  ?" 

"  I-  believe  not,"  answered  Louis  :  "  but  I 
will  give  you  an  outline  of  my  story.  You 
remember  the  man  in  the  garden,  whom  we 
thought  we  had  seen  before  ?" 

"  Certainly  :  go  on." 

"  As  I  came  down  the  mountain,  and  had 
reached  the  ruins,  I  found  there  a  great 
many  people,  who  had  sought  shelter  from 
the  rain.  Naturally,  I  looked  about  to  see 
whether  my  mother  and  my  aunt  were  among 
them.  I  did  not  find  them.  Most  of  t)ie 
people  were  servants  belonging  to  the  court. 
I  then  went  on  my  way,  but  had  scarcely 
walked  a  hundred  steps  from  the  ruins,  when 
a  French  gens  d'anno  followed  after  me, 
and  accosted  me  rather  roughly  with  his — 
'  Bon  Soir,  Monskur  /'  I  returned  the  sa- 
lute, and  was  about  to  walk  on,  when  he  de- 
clared that  I  must  follow  him.  I  asked  why, 
and  where  to  ?  It  was  not  his  business,  he 
said,  to  answer  these  questions.  Uncon- 
scious of  any  crime,'I  resolved,  however  re- 
luctantly, to  obey, — for  I  expected  that  tiie 
whole  affair  was  a  misunderstanding,  which 
would  be  cleared  up  in  one  moment.  On 
looking  round,  however,  I  observed  a  ivian  in 
regimentals,  and  another  gens  d'arinc,  hasti- 
ly following  us.  On  their  coming  nearer,  I 
recognised  that  stranger.  He  came  up  to 
me,  and  said,  with  a  sort  of  cynical  smile  : 
'  You  must  follow  us  to  attend  a  short  ex- 
amination, sir!'  'I  have  already  heard  so, 
with  astonishment,'  I  answered, '  and  should 
be  exceeding  glad  to  know  why  !'  As  he  did 


# 


i 


#% 


f 


40 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


not  answer,  I  continued  :  '  I  caunot  suppose 
that  there  is  any  ether  than  a  mistake  or  vin- 
dictiveness,  and  hope  to  obtain  satisfac- 
tion fur  this  shameful  treatment!'  " 

"  '  It  will  all  be  right,'  he  said,  coolly,  and 
we  proceeded  farther    down,  towards 
palace. 

"  I  was  very  glad  to  meet   no  one ;  for  1 
need   not  assure   you    that   I  fell  assliamed 
enough,  walking   in    this  way  betwi'Cn  two 
French  bailiffs.     Having  arrived  at  the  great 
gate  of  the  palace,   I  was  condiictcd  aside 
into  a    small    porter's-lodge,  where,   under 
guard  of  tlie  two  gens  d'armcs,  I  had  to  wait 
more  than  an  hour's  time,  during  which,  the 
stranger  absented  him-eltl     I  employed  this 
time  in  coming  to  a  decision,  as  to  my  course 
of  conduct.  I  1  resolved  to  enter  upon  no  ex- 
planation, but  merely  to  prole^t  aj^ainat  the 
outrage  of  myarrest.  I  considered,  of  course, 
particularly   how   to   spare  my  mother  the 
alarm  wiiich  the  case  at  all  events  must  cause 
her.     But,  as  you  will  hear,  all  that  I  could 
do,  in  that  respect,  was  forestalied.     After 
an  hour's  absence,  the  stranger  again  appear- 
ed.    It  was  already  quite  dark,  so  I  do  not 
exactly   know  which  way  they   carried   me  ; 
but  1  believe  it  was  into  one  of  the  offices  of 
the  palace.     After  ascending  some   narrow 
stairs,  and  then  going  down  a   rather  exten- 
sive corridor,  I  was  led  into  a  room  where  I 
found   j!ie  same  man  with  the  cross  of  the 
Leaio:!  of  Honor  whom  we  met  in  the  gar- 
den tliis* afternoon.     He  spoke  nothing  but 
French.     I    complained   of  my   arrest.     He 
smiled,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  tha; 
I   knew  t!i3   reason  of  my  arrest  very  well. 
He  then  proceeded  to  a  formal  examination ; 
in  the  first  place  enquiring  ray  name.     I  de- 


clared that  1  would  not  give  it  before  I  knew 
the  grounds  upon  which  1  had  been  seized." 

"  '  Yo!i  are  accused  of  hiyh-treason,'  he  re- 
turned, impetuously. 

*' '  And  by  whoui  V  I  asked. 

"  '  By  this  gentleman,'  lie  answered,  point- 
ing to  ih3  stranger. 

"  '  I  do  not  know  that  gentleman,' I  said,  in 
a  ruill.'d  nicoJ. 

"  '  So  inuc'i  tlie  bet'er  does  he,  therefore, 
know  you,'  replied  my  inquisitor,  witii  vio- 
lence. 

" '  Well,  then,'  s^aid  I,  also  much  excited  ; 
*  if  that  gon'.leman  aocuses  me  of  h'gi)-t.rea- 
eon,  he  will  be  able,  no  dojd)t,  to  infonn  you 
of  my  name,  also.  I  decline  giving  it  my- 
self, because  I  do  not  acknowledge  the  tribu- 
nal b'fore  which  I  stand.' 

"  The  stranger  did  not  know  v/hat  to  an- 
swer to  these  words,  but  stood  irresolute  and 
embarrassed.  Finally,  he  whispered  some- 
thing in  the  ear  of  my  self-constituted  judge, 
who  tticn  said: 

" '  Oi  course  we  know  your  name ;  but  the 


forms  of  enquiry  demand  that  you  declare  it 

yoursflf.' 

" '  Yes  :  by  the  forms  of  a  lega.1  enquiry,' 
I  answered. 
"  My  inqui.-itor  turned  scarlet,  on  hearing 
the  j  this  objection.  He  took  a  few  turns  up  and 
down  the  f'uor,  and  then  retired  whh  my  ac- 
cuser into  an  adjoining  room.  Both  appeared 
again  in  about  a  quartfcr  of  an  kour.  Ti:e 
examiner  came  right  up  to  me  with  a  haugh- 
ty mien,  and  .-aid : 

"  '  You    will    now  be   carried  to   a  place, 
which,  perhaps,  will  have  some  efl'eci  in  sub-    ^ 
da'ng  your  obstinacy.     You  will  follow  that 
gentleman.' 

"  The  thought  of  my  mother  and  sister, 
and  the  anxiety  they  must  endure  on  my  ac- 
count, then  rushed  on  my  mind. 

"  '  You  will  permit  me,  I  truft,  to  apprise 
some  friends  who  came  with  me  to  this  place, 
of  my  fate ;'.  I  said. 

'• '  I  cannot  permit  it,'  replied  the  inquisitor. 
"  '  IJow  !'  said   1;  'does  your  administra- 
tion, of  justice  so   strictly  slum   the  light? 
Such  is  the  course  observed  by  the  Inquisi- 
tion !' 

"  '  A  prisoner  who  refuses  to  tell  his  name 
Ins  no  possible  claim  to  a  favor  of  this 
kind.' 

"  '  Wei],  then,  T  wi  1  tell  my  name  so  ?oon 
as  I  have  ^iven  information  to  my  friends,  and 
I  know  that  some  one  is  at  liberty  to  protest 
agaim-t  thi.s  arbitrary  violence.  I  will  write 
two  lines  :  in  ten  minutes  I  can  have  them 
back — signed.  The  proof  in  my  hand  that 
my  friends  are  actually  apprised  of  my  des- 
liny,  and  I  will  answer  every  reasonable 
question  that  may  be  proposed.' 

'•  My  examiner- seemed  irre.'-olute  v;hat  to 
do.     After  a- short  silence,  he  said  : 

"  '  Your  request  is  altogether  inadmissible  ; 
I  cannot  permit  any  communication  with  your 
friends.  For  the  rest,  we  will  find  means, 
I  warrant  you,  to  learn  what  we  want  to 
know.     Good  bye.' 

"  With  these  words  he  left.  I  was  very 
much  excited.  The  id^a  which  I  depicted  to 
myself  of  my  molher's  grief,  if  I  should  thus 
vanish  without  a  trace,  moderated  my  aver- 
sion fur  the  stranger  so  far  that  I  laid  aside 
all  show  of  defiance,  and  accos-ted  him  in  a 
more  gentle  mood. 

"  '  I  hope  from  your  humanity,  sir,'  said  i, 
'that  you  will  at  least  permit  me  to  send  my 
friends  a  verbal  message,  so  that  they  may 
not  suffer  needless  anxiety  on  my  account.' 
"  '  I  can  only  discharge  my  dmty,'  he  an- 
swered, with  freezing  coldness. 

" '  And  in  what  does  lliat  con.-ist  ?  I  hope 
tliat  I  may  be  allowed  to  know  to  what  place 
I  am  to  be  conducted.' 

"  '  You  will  know  well  enough,  when  you 
see  it,'  was  his  answer. 


# 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


41 


"  I  must  confess,  that  my  anger  against 
this  wretch,  and  concern  about  my  friends, 
brought  tears  into  my  eyes.  With  great  dif- 
liculty  I  mastered  myself  sufficiently  not  to 
do  or  say  things  which  could  only  have  made 
my  situation  more  hopeless.  At  this  moment, 
one  of  the  gens  d'arines  came  in,  announc- 
ing, in  a  half-whispeiipbut  still  so  loud  that  I 
heard  it,  that '  the  wagon  was  at  the  ferry,  and 
would  wait  on  the  other  side  of  the  Elbe. 
The  boat,  also.' 

"  On  receiving  this  intelligence,  we  started. 
You  already  know  my  adventures  after  that: 
for,  on  the  road  which  we  took,  you,  my  dear 
friends,  became  my  deliverers." 

'•  The  few  minutes  which  we  have  devoted 
in  listening  to  your  tale,  Louis,  have  not  been 
uselessly  spfent,"  said  Bernard  ;  "  for  not  till 
then,  could  we  have  formed  a  plan  of  opera- 
tion. It  is  the  greatest  luck  that  you  did  not 
disclose  your  name.  They  will  soon  become 
tired  of  their  search  :  stiU  it  is  very  hazard- 
ous to  remain  in  Dresden.  But  what  under 
the  sun  do  ihey  want  ?" 

"  At  the  first,  I  was  too  exasperated  to  re- 
flect calmly  on  the  subject.  Now,  however, 
I  have  my  surmises  ;  but  for  the  present  I 
can  enter  into  no  explanations.  Perhaps  the 
whole  affair  may  be  made  the  stepping-stone 
to  my  happiness,  and  that  in  the  most  won- 
derlul  manner." 

"  Nothing  could  give  me  more  pleasure 
than  that,"  replied  Bernard.  "  In  the  mean 
time  we  must  think  of  others.  Your,  sister 
is  up  at  the  tower,  in  a  very  unpleasant  situ- 
ation, and  your  mother  below,  perhaps  in  one 
no  better.  We  were  going  down  to  gather 
intelligence,  and  to  bring  up  the  carriage. 
This  is  the  first  thing  we  must  do.  As  re- 
gards yourself,  I  think  it  would  be  best  to  go 
fight  up  to  the  tower,  and  wait  for  us  there. 
When  there,  you  can  say,  in  excuse  for  your 
long  absence,  that  something  broke  about  the 
carriage.  Tell  them,  also,  that  we  met  you, 
and  undertook  to  arrange  matters,  while  you 
ha&tened  on  to  bring  them  intelligence.  Mean- 
while, I  vvill  despatch  everything  down  here  ; 
but  on  no  consideration  tell  them  a  word 
about  your  real  adventure.  And  now,  may  God 
be  with  you — for  we  have  not  a  fnoment  to 
lose." 

"  Oh,  my  friends  !"  cried  Louis ;  "  how  shall 
I  thank  you  ?  Who  can  estimate  the  misery 
from  which  you  have  saved  me  ?" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Bernard,  "  thank  for- 
tune, and  not  us." 

With  4hese  words,  he  seized  Jaromir  by  the 
arm,  and  both  hastened  down  the  moun- 
tain. 

'  I  would  give  my  best  picture,"  he  said 
to  Jaromir  in  descending,  **  to  fall  in  with 
the  two  gens  d'armes,  and  hear  them  ask  us 
to  put  them  on  the  track  of  the  two  rascals 


that  turned  them  out  of  the  saddle  contrary 
to  all  rules  of  the  tournament." 

Louis  in  the  mean  time  continued  his  way. 
As  he  came  near  the  tower,  a  sudden  "Who 
goes  there  ?"  was  called  in  a  prompt,  firm 
tone.  He  rt'cognised  the  voice  of  Rasinski, 
who,  takin<««turns  with  Boleslaus,  performed 
the  duty  of  sentinel. 

"  Friend  !"  answered  Louis  gladly. 

"  At  last '"  was  answered  in  return,  and 
Rasinski  gave  him  joyfully  his  hand."  How 
glad  your  sister  will  be ;  she  has  been  so 
alarmed  about  you !" 

In  a  kind  of  triumph  be  led  the  returning 
wanderer  toward  the  tower,  where  the  girls 
were  sitting  in  anxious  silence,  except  Mary, 
who  was  reclining,  the  pain  of  her  foot  requir- 
ing that  position.  "  Art  thou  here  at  last, 
Louis!"  she  cried  on  hearing  his  voice,  reach- 
ing him  her  hand  ;  "  how  couldst  thou  leave 
us  so  long  in  anxious  suspense  ?" 

Louis  apologised  for  his  tardiness  in  the 
best  manner  he  could,  and  assured  the  girls 
of  a  speedy  deliverance  from  their  odd  kind 
of  imprisonment. 

"  0^1,  now  that  thou  art  with  us,  and 
mother  knows  where  we  are,  we  will 
wait   cheerfully,"  answered  Mary. 

She  asked  him  to  sit  down  by  her,  but  he 
declined  it,  alleging  that  he  was  soaking  wet 
and  would  rather  keep  stirring.  The  mo- 
tive, however,  was  his  inward  anxiety 
whether  Bernard  would  come  or  not;  ho 
hoped  better  to  hide  his  feelings  by  walking 
back  and  forth  with  the  men  outside,  for  the 
rain  had  long  ceased. 

An  uneasy  half-hour  having  passed,  the 
sound  of  a  whip  and  the  rattling  of  a  cariiage 
were  heard.  Now  the  gleaii  of  lanterns 
was  seen  among  the  trees  and  bushes,  and 
in  a  few  minutfes  Jaromir  arrived,  bringinrr 
the  news  that  both  of  the  elder  ladies  were 
coming  up,  so  as  to  save  a  piece  of  consid- 
erably round-about  way.  Immediately  one 
of  the  vehicles  drew  up ;  the  coachman 
jumped  nimbly  down  ; — it  was  Bernard. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  cried,  "  and  I  act  as 
postilion  for  the  very  satisfactory  reason 
that  one  of  tlie  two  his  made  himself  so 
tipsy  that  he  is  good  for  nothing.  We  left 
him  in  the  straw,  and  I  took  the  liberty  to 
constitute  myself  heir  to  his  mantle,  every 
stitch  in  my  jacket  being  as  wet  as  if  I  had 
been  taking  a  swim  with  the  fishes.*  I  am 
almost  dry  now,  ard  you,  Louis,  must  have 
some  dry  covering." 

So  Joying,  he  took  off  the  cloak  and  threw 
it  around  Louis,  whispering  in  his  ear,  "  This 
is  your  disguise  ;  they  can't  know  what  is 
going  on.  You  must  drive  the  carriage  back  ; 
the  coachmen  are  bribed,  and  know  what 
they  are  to  do." 

Louis  thanked  his  friend  by  a  pressure  of 


42 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ;  O 


» 


the  hand  for  his  clever  precautions.  And 
now,  the  two  mothers  also  arrived  in  safety  ; 
all  trouble  was  lightened  |rom  the  hearts  of 
the  three  girls,  and  they  gave  themselves  up 
to  unrestrained  joy  ;  yea,  tiiey  even  went  so 
far  as  to  be  a  little  proud  of  the  day's  roman- 
ce adventures,  and  were  not  the  last  to  regale 
themselves  with  the  good  wine  \vhich  Ber- 
nard had  found  in  the  carriage. 

Finally  they  prepared  for  departing.  The 
state  of  Mary's  foot,  as  well  as  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  seemed  to  dictate  the  propriety 
of  a  separation  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Bernard,  moreover,  had  good  reasons  for  pro- 
moting this  arrangement,  as  in  case  of  an 
untoward  accident,  it  would  he  much  better 
that  all  the  men  were  in  the  same  carriage, 
and  in  this  way  the  carriage  of  the  ladies 
"Would  hardly  suffer  any  delay.  The  men 
now  being  by  themselves,  Bernard  briefly 
recounted  Louis'  adventure.  They  all 
agreed  on  acting  in  strictest  harmony,  and 
Rasinski  assured  them  that  his  Colonel's 
uniform  would  be  sufficient  protection  from 
any  danger  of  the  moment.  Louis  pulled 
the  seal-skin  cap  of  the  coachman  deep  over 
his  eyes,  wrapped  himself  closely  in  the 
cloak,  and  sprang  on  the  coach-box.  While 
they  drove  along  Bernard  entered  more  into 
detail,  and  explained  particulars  so  fully,  that 
no  danger  could  be  apprehended  from  mis- 
understanding or  ignorance. 

The  passage  down  was  effected  without 
accident.  They  arrived  at  the  ferry  and 
crossed  tiie  Elbe  without  hindrancis. 

They  had  got  about  half  way,  when  Ber- 
nard called  out  to  Louis  to  stop. 

"  It  is  very  probable  that  you  are  entirely 
unknown,  but  it  is  not  quite  certain.  What 
if  they  were  to  seek  you  in  your  mother's 
house  ?  At  least  it  would  be  the  most  pru- 
dent plan  not  to  pass  the  night  there,  but 
keep  yourself  invisible  to-morrow,  until  we 
have  reconnoitred  the  ground.  I  will  find 
some  plausible  excuse ;  but  just  now  you 
must  hail  jour  colleague,  tl»e  other  coach- 
man, and  ask  him  to  stop,  and  then  every 
thing  else  will  be  easy  enough." 

Louis  did  as  Bernard  desired.  The  latter 
left  the  carriage,  went  up  to  liie  ladies,  and 
begged  of  them  not  to  take  offence  if  they 
were  left  to  ride  alone  ',  but  the  horses  of  the 
other  carriage  were  so  weary,  that  they  would 
not  st^r  from  the  spot,  and  it  was  therefore 
necessary  to  stop  for  an  hour  to  rest  and 
feed.  He  took  the  coachman  aside,  >iave 
him  some;  money,  and  said  :  "  Fear  nothing ; 
we  will  follow  you  at  a  short  distance,  but 
we  have  our  .reasons  why  we  wish  to  avoid 
arriving  at  the  same  time  with  the  ladies." 

The  coachman  growled  out  something 
like  a  "  Very  well,"  mounted  his  box,  and 
drove  on. 


As  if  now  first  remembering  it,  Bernard 
ran  after  the  carriage,  and  called  out  through 
the  window  :  *'  One  thing  more  !  We  shall 
in  all  probability  arrive  much  later  than  you; 
BO  Louis  will  not  disturb  you,  but  stay  over 
night  with  us." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  ha.^t- 
ened  back  to  his  friend|| "  All  is  right  now," 
he  cried,  in  high  spirit"  Let  who  will  come 
to  besiege,  storm,  blockade,  or  starve  out 
the  fortressjthey  will  perish  under  our  walls 
of  defence." 

Five  minutes  after  the  ladies'  carriage  had 
left,  the  gentlemen  also  drove  on,  keeping  at 
some  distance  behind,  but  never  so  great  bat 
that  in  case  of  need  they  might  lend  their 
immediate«issistance. 

Nothing  suspicious  met  them  on  the  road  ; 
they  reached  the  gates  of  Dresden  without 
obstruction.  The  ladies  passed  the  gate 
without  hindrance,  but  their  own  carriage 
was  stopped. 

A  police  officer  fhd  a  gens  d'arme  stepped 
up,  and  asked  whence  they  came  and  whO' 
they  were.  Pursuant  to  agreement,  Rasin- 
ski undertook  to  be  spokesman,  and  answer- 
ed. The  Count's  uniform  and  rank  appeared 
to  produce  their  impression ;  the  officials 
stepped  back  a  little  and  conversed  together 
in  an  under-tone.  Bernard,  who  did  not  lose 
sight  of  them,  detected  a  third  person,  envel- 
oped in  a  cloak,  join  them.  His  practised 
eye,  observant  specially  ot  dra|)ery  and  cos- 
tume, recognised  with  tolerable  accuracy,  in 
the  shrouded  figure,  the  arch  enemy  of  Louis. 
They  were  therefore,  indeed,  in  a  dangerous 
predicament.  At  length  Rasinski  leaned 
out  of  the  carriage  and  cried  :  "  What  have  ' 
we  to  wait  here  for  novv  ?  It  is  late ;  be 
quick  and  despatch  ns  !" 

There  was  still  a  few  moments'  delay,  the 
gens  d'arme  then  came  up,  looked  into  the 
carriage,  lantern  in  hand,  and  said  civilly  : 

"  Excuse  us.  Colonel,  but  we  have  orders  to 
communicate  something  of  ulmost  impor- 
tance to  a  person  coming  from  PilJnitz,  aa 
soon  as  he  arrives  at  the  gate  ;  it  is  only  my 
duty  to  see  if  he  i§  one  of  these  gentlemen." 

"The  devil  lake  you  I''  cried  the  Colonel. 
"  These  two  are  my  comrades — of  the  same 
regiment — and  the  other  is  my  friend,  and 
none  of  us  have  any  intelligence  to  expect 
here  at  the  gate  at  this  time  of  night.  Let 
us  alone.     Drive  on,  coachinan  !" 

Louis  cracked  his  whip  and  drove  smartly 
ahead.  Without  farther  molestati6n  they 
reached  the  Hotel  de  Pologne,  where  Rasin- 
ski lodged  with  his  two  subalterns.  Louis 
was  to  remain  there  over  night,  while  Ber- 
nard undertook  to  see  the  carriage  returned 
to  its  owner.  Further  consultation  and 
measures  were  to  be  attended  to  as  early  aa 
possible  next  morning. 


^. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Bernard  got  up  early  next  morning  to 
look  for  Louis.  His  way  led  him  down  Cas- 
tle-street, and  he  was  pondering  as  he  went 
what  was  best  to  be  doije  in  this  vexatious 
business  and  whether  Louis  would  not  do 
well  to  absent  hims^  from  Dresden,  at  least 
for  a  short  time,  ^en  he  brushed  rather 
rudely  against  a  passer-by,  seemingly  also  in 
a  great  hurry.  Both  mechanically  seized 
their  hats,  in  order  to  exchange  their  polite 
apologies,  when  Bernard  saw  standing  before 
him  the  very  stranger  who  was  the  origin  of 
this  mischievous  affair. 

None  but  a  person  of  the  experience  and 
presence  of  mind  which  Bernard  possessed, 
could  have  kept  his  countenance  under  such 
a  contretemps.  He  apologised  for  his  rude- 
aess  with  the  greatest  affiibility;  the  rapid 
shade  of  embarrassment  which  flitted  over 
his  features  might  be  attributed  to  the  sud- 
denness of  the  concussioH,  as  soon  as  to  the 
feeling  inspired  by  the  sight  of  the  equivocal 
stranger. 

The  person  answered  with  equal  polite- 
ness. Bernard  scrutinised  his  countenanee, 
to  discover  whether  he  was  recognised  or 
not.  It  appeared  to  him,  as  if  the  stranger 
wavered.  Suddenly  the  thought  darted  into 
his  mind  :  "  Perhaps  I  may  succeed  in  draw- 
ing out  this  fellow,  and  make  use  of  him 
against  himself?"  Columbus  did  hot  feel 
more  elated  at  the  thought  which  revealed 
to  Iiim  a  new  world,  than  Bernard  did  at  this 
idea. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  it  is  true," 
he  answered,  "  but  still  I  think  we  must 
have  met  before  somewhere." 

"  It  appears  just  so  to  me,  also,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  that  expression  of  uneasiness 
which  accompanies  uncertainty." 

"  By  Jove  !  now  I  remember  !"  cried  Ber- 
nard. •'  Were  you  not  in  the  garden  at  Pill- 
nitz,  yesterday  ?  Did  we  not  meet  you  just 
by  those  beautiful  elders  7" 

"  True  !"'  exclaimed  the  stranger,  his  face 
Jighting  up  with  malicious  joy;  "just  so. 
But  you  were  not  alone." 

"  I  was  with  a  travelling  companion,  whom 
I  had  met  at  the  inn ;"  Bernard  rejoined,  in  a 


NA^LEQirS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


quite  late  at  night,  else  I  might  be  sitting  on 
the  Porsberg  yet.  I  am  just  on  my  way  to 
them  now,  to  del^r  my  thanks  :  but  as  these 
gentlemen  are  dRustomed  to  go  out  quite 
early  in  the  morning,  be  so  good  as  to  ex- 
cuse me." 

With  these  words,  Bernard  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  depart ;  but  the  stranger  to(^ 
him  by  the  hand. 

"  One  word,  I  pray  you.    Who  was,  may  L* 
ask,  your  companion  in  the  garden  ?" 

"  Really,"  answered  Bernard,  "  that  I  can 
tell  you  as  well  as  not,  I  travel  a  great  deal, 
back  and  forth.  Some  time  ago,  I  met  him  in 
Manheim,  and  then,  a  few  days  since,  I  found 
him  at  the  table  d'hote,  in  Leipzig.  We 
drank  coffee  together  at  Rosenthal — went  to 
the  opera,  and  had  an  oyster-supper  after- 
wards. Yesterday,  again,  we  met  by  chance 
in  the  garden  at  Pillnitz-,  and  were  again 
separated  by  chance,  in  the  storm.  That  is 
all  that  I  know  about  him.  Of  his  name  and 
condition  I  can  give  you  no  information — for 
what  traveller  troubles  himself  about  these 
)articukrs  ?  But  if  you  are  interested,  I  can 
)Ut  you  in  the  way  of  finding  him — for  we 
lave  agreed  o»  a  rendezvous  at  Hegereuter's, 
in  the  garden,  at  Plan,  this  afternoon." 

"  At  what  hour,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to 
ask  ?" 

"  Four  o'clock.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  make  one  of  the  party  ;  if  so,  give  me 
your  address,  and  I  will  come  and  fetch  you  ; 
tor  I  have  everything  ready,  and  know  the 
way  perfectly." 

"  You  would  oblige  me  very  much.  Bu; 
allow  me  to  save  yo||i,  that  trouble,  sir,  am 
rather  to  call  upon  yoa.  Will  you  please  t( 
let  me  know  where  you  stay  ?" 

"  On  no  account  can  I  allow  that !  But  U 
decide  the  matter,  let  us  meet  at  three  o'cloci 
at  Longo's,  the  Italian  confectioner,  close  b} 
here,  in  Castle-street.  For  the  present 
must  take  my  leave.  I  hope  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  soon  seeing  you  tigain." 

Without  staying  for  an  answer,  Bernard 
turned  on  his  heel  and  made  down  the  street ; 
but  only  for  the  purpose  of  slipping  into  one  of 
the  nearest  houses,  and  from  thence,  with 
argus  eyes,  to  watch  the  movements  of  the 
ambiguous  stranger.  As  soon  as  he  thought 
light  tone.     "We  afterwards  ascended  theJit  safe,  he  followed  him,  determined  not  to 


Porsberg  together;  but  the  thunder-storm 
separated  us.     Did  it  overtake  you  also  ?" 

«  A  little  ;  but—" 

"  I  had  my  full  share  of  it,"  Bernard  pur- 
posely interrupted.  "  I  got  wet  to  the  skin  ; 
and  to  crown  the  matter,  I  had  no  conveyance 
back  ;  for  that  vagabond  of  a  hack-driver 
whom  I  had  engaged,  left  me  in  the  lurch, — 
somebody  probably  offering  him  higher  fare. 
But  I  fell  in  with  some  French  officers,  capi- 
tal  fellows,  who*brought  me  into  Dresden 


lose  the  track.  The  gentleman  entered  a 
respectable-looking  house  in  Castle-street. 
Bernard  happened  to  have  eome  acquain- 
tance with  tlie  porter  of  the  house,  and  re- 
solved to  speak  with  him.  He  followed  the 
stranger,  therefore,  to  the  door  of  the  house, 
and  asked  the  porter  if  he  knew  him. 

"  Not  by  name,"  he  answered ;  "  but  he 
lives  here,  and  belongs  to  the  service  of  the 
Baron  St.  Luces,  I  believe,  as  his  secretary." 

Bernard  now  knew  all.  With  arrow-speed 


^aJk 


44 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND 


E;   or; 


he  hastened  to  RasinskL    He  found  him  at]  against  their  own  will.    It  is  true  as  yet  ife 
'  reakfast  with  Louis  and  the  two  young  of-   seems  they  know  only  your  person,  and  not 

Arly  listened  to.    your  name  ;  but  how  easily  may  not  that  be 

.Kasinski's  brow !  found  out!     I  will  take  it  upon  myself  to 

put  your  worthy  mother  in  possession  of  all 

necessary  particulafs ;  and  then  to  examine 


ticers.  His  story  was  ea^^ 
At  the  name  of  St.  -Luces, 
contracted  in  deep  furrows. 

"That  name  bodes  you  no  good,  my 
Mfend  !"  he  said,  turning  to  Louis.  "The 
man  is,  part  councillor  of  Legr.tion  p;ut 
police-officer,  part  spy.  Very  able,  but  ex- 
tremely intriguing  and  avaricious  he  is  in- 
dispensable, but  despised.  His  legitimate 
name  is  Rumigny  ;  but  having  brought  him- 
self into  notice  by  his  dirty  services,  he  has 
been  elevated  to  the  rank  of  what  is  called 
nobility,  an  order  which,  f^ince  the  Empire, 
has  shot  up  so  luxuriantly  in  France.  I 
know  liim  but  too  well.  But  what  ir*  the 
world  can  he  want  with  you  ?" 

Louis  had,  as  yet,  di^sclosed  to  no  one  his 
adventure  in  Italy,  to  which,  naturally,  he 
ascribed  his  arrest.  He  now  related  the 
whole  in  detail,  carefully  concealing  every- 
thing trenching  on  the  state  of  his  own  heart. 
Bernard  listened  in  fixed  astoni..hment. — 
Louis,  then,  also  knew  this  mysterious 
being.  He  had  been  with  her,  on  so  intimate 
a  footing  !  Oh,  how  deeply,  then,  must  that 
sweet  image  be  engraved  on  the  heart  of  his 
friend  !  To  him  this  same  image  had  ap- 
peared and  vanished  in  an  instant ;  but  now, 
when  he  looked  upon  his  friend  in  so  iami- 
liar  a  relation  to  the  original  of  his  ideal,.ii'3 
heart  was  deeply  moved,  and  he  felt  former 
wounds,  only  slightly  cicatrised,  bleeding 
afresh.  Yet,  in  his  usual  manner,  he  con- 
cealed his  feelings  under  the  cap  and  bell  of 
the  harlequin.  * 

"  By  heavens  !  a  drolladventure  ;  admira- 
ble !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Would  there  bo  any 
sense  in  troubling  one's-self  about  thee  any 
farther.  I  could  let  myself  be  hanged  ten 
times  over,  to  have  a  promenade  over  the 
Simplon,  in  the  delicious  Italian  night-air,  by 
the  fide  of  such  a  divine  creature,  who  had 
adopted  me  as  her  brother.  Who  would  care 
a  straw  after  such  an  adventure  ?" 

"Jesting  apart,"  said  Rasinsky ;  "I  fear 
the  thing  will  take  a  very  grave  turn — for,  I 
believe  that,  unknowingly,  you  have  perform- 
ed a  deed  which  will  hardly  ever  be  forgiv- 
en. At  all  events,  you  must  rcm.ain  concealed 
for  the  present,  till  we  are  better  instructed. 
i\o  one  sees  you  here.  I  would  also  advise 
your  friend  not  to  resort  to  the  rendezvous, 
before  I  have  gained  farther  intelligence. 
This  I  will  do,  forthwith." 

"  I  fear  nothing,  as  regards  myself,"  an- 
swered Louis  ;  "  but  what  shall  I  say  to  m.y 
mother  and  my  sister  ?" 

"  The  whole  truth,  dear  friend,"  replied 
Ra.-inski;  "for  if  your  friends  should  be  left 
ill  ignorance,  or  be  quieted  with  false  infor- 
II) .Ltion,  they  might  become  your  betrayers, 


the  state  of  circumstances,  to  do  which,  I 
possess  the  very  best  m^ps." 

Louis  silently  gave  his  hand  in  token  of 
thanks  to  his  resolute  friend.  Bernard 
stamped  on  the  floor  with  his  heel,  in  vexa- 
tion ;  while  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  exhibited 
the  most  friendly  sympathy. 

"  We  must  lose  no  time,"  said  Rasinski, 
rising  ;  "  I  will  set  out  immediately.  You 
will  do  better  to  step  into  the  next  room,  and 
suffer  yourself  not  to  be  seen  by  any  one.  I 
go  first,  my  dear  friend,  to  your  mother ;  cir- 
cumstances will  plead  an  excuse  for  my  ear- 
ly visit.  Then  T  will  begin  my  inquiries. 
Yon  shall  hear  from  me  at  the  very  first  op- 
portunity." 

He  was  about  going,  when  he  stopped  at 
the  door,  as  if  struck  with  some  sudden  idea. 

"  Yes,  that  is  best,"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  beg 
of  you  one  thing,  without  which  I  can  do 
nothing;  namely,  a  'couple  of  lines,  which 
may  be  my  credentials  with  your  mother." 

"She  will  place  in  you  implicit  confi- 
dence," answered  Louis. 

"Place  it  in  me  yourself,  first,"  said  Ra- 
sinski; ''the  lines  which  I  ask  lor  are  ne- 
cessary, in  a  certain  case." 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  Louis. 

"  Well,  then,  sit  down  and  write:  'Dear 
mother  :  I  pray  you  to  place  unlimited  confi- 
dence in  the  bearer,  and  to  follow  his  direc-. 
tions.' " 

Louis  started,  but  wrote  as  Rasinski  re- 
quested. The  latter  immediately  left.  Ja- 
#-omir  and  Boleslaus  did  the  same  soon  after, 
as  they  had  to  assist  Rasinski  fn  forming  the 
new  free-corps. 

Bernard  remained  with  Louis.  For  a  while 
they  walked  up  and  down  the  room  together, 
in  silence — Louis,  busily  cogitating  upon  his 
situation  ;  and  Bernard,  because  the  dormant 
feeling  lurking  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  had 
been  freshly  awakened  in  all  its  strength. 
For  nearly  an  hour  they  irtterchanged  only 
detached  and  short  sentences  on  unimportant 
subjects.  But  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps  put  an  end  to  all  farther  conversa- 
tion. 


Rasinski  entered 
brow  furrowed. 


CHAPTER  XVL  ^^  ^ 

tlis  eye  was  sad,  his 


NA^LlAp 


INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


45 


"Friends,  I  believe  you  are  men,"  he  be- 
gan, "  and  know  how  to  bear  up  under  ad- 
versities of  fate.  Your  affair  is  in  a  bad  state, 
and  that  through  you,  my  dear  friend,"  turn- 
ing to  Bernard,  "  for  the  porter  of  the  liouse 
where  St.  Luces  lodges  has  betrayed  you 

"  The  devil !  and  how  is  that  possible  ?" 
eried  Bernard.  ' 

"  In  the  simplest  way  in  the  world.  After 
you  had  made  enquiries  about  the  stranger, 
whom  I  now  can  name  to  you  as  Monsieur 
Beaucaire,  St.  Luces'  secretary,  and  was 
leaving  the  house,'  he  was  standing  on  the 
balcony  above.  Of  course,  he  was  surprised 
to  find  that  you  had  followed  him  ;  he  there- 
fore in  his  turn  sought  information  about 
you.  By  the  most  unlucky  chance  in  the 
world,  it  so  happened  too,  that  this  same 
porter  was  yesterday  also  in  Pillnilz,  and 
saw  you  there  v/alking  arm  in  arm  with  our 
friend  Louis;  whom  unfortunateiy  he  knows 
but  too  well,  as  you  met  St.  Lucesand  Beau- 
caire. Thfe  former  is  the  greatest  villain  on 
earth,  and  the  latter  seeins  to  be  no  better. 
J^othing  was  wanting,  then,  for  them  to 
learn  every  thing,  except  the  well-laid  plot, 
which  they  guess  at,  by  which  Louis  was  so 
boldly  delivered  out  of  iheir  clutches." 

"  I  am  almost  ready  to  drive  a  ball  through 
my  head!"  cried  Bernard. 

"  And  my  mother  ?"  said  Louis. 

"Is  already  informed  of  every  thing." 

"•Has  she  been  in  any  way  molested?" 

"  Not  yet,  for  the  porter,  fortunately,  though 
he  knows  your  name,  is  ignorant  of  your  res- 
idence. They  are  now  busy  finding  out  that. 
It  will  take  them  some  hours  to  do  it,  and 
these  we  must  improve.  I  have  already 
formed  a  plan,  and  will  soon  have  the  neces- 
sary preparations  made.  These  hints  must 
suffice  you  for  the  present,  for  I  must  away 
again  tins  minute." 

"  Wait  one  moment !"  cried  Louis.  "  How 
would  it  do  to  release  all  of  you  who  have 
become  entangled  in  my  affair  from  ail  an- 
noyance and  responsibility  by  simply  taking 
the  step  of  voluntarily  presenting  myself  for 
exilmination  ?" 

"I  would  not  answer  for  your  life,  my 
youifg  fiiend,"  answered  Rasirieki  gravely  ; 
"for  you  Isave,  as  I  have  been  informed,  as- 
sisted in  the  escape  of  one  of  the  mo.<t  dan- 
gerous cecret  agents  of  our  enemies  in  Italy, 
who^e  \r:  c.k  they  had  found  and  were  pur- 
suing, and  with  v.'hom  they  were  sure  of  find- 
ing soiiis  most  important  papers." 

"  Did  they  tell  you  who  this  agent  was  ?" 
asked  Louis  qi.ickiy,  hoping  to  receive  some 
clue  td  the  mystery  ot  the  lost  one. 

"  No,"  answered  Rasinski,  "  I  asked 
about  it,  but  the  answer  uas,  that  it  is  a  di- 
plomatic i^ecn  t,  known  probably  to  none  but 
St.    Luces.      The  circumstances   are   ,notl 


yet  fully  developed,  and  the  whole  may  re- 
main a  mystery  for  a  length  of  time.  Do 
you  really  know^thing  on  that  point  ?'' 

"  N(;t  the  leastj^'  ark-wered  Louis  ;  "  so  in 
that  respect,  at  least,  I  am  perfectly  guilt- 
^ss." 

^  "Knowing  or  not  knowing,  even  were 
they  to  believe  you,  cannot  avail  any  thing. 
Our  articles  of  war  award  you  death.  But, 
take  courage  !  you  may  be  called  upon  to 
make  some  sacrifice  but  I  think  that  I  can 
save  you.  For  the  jwesent,  farewell.  You 
shall  soGii  hear  from  me  again.  One  thing 
more,  you  may  trust  my  young  comrades  un- 
reservedly; they  are  as  true  and  devoted  to  mc 
as  if  they  were  my  own  sons." 

He  left. 

Louis  and  Bernard  remained  another  hour 
in  anxious  perplexity.  At  the  expiration  of 
this  time  Rasinski  returned. 

"  1  will,"  ho  began,  '■  announce  to  you 
your  fate  without  circumlocution,  for  ye  are 
men.  I  can  save  you  if  you  will  j(.in  myi 
free-corps;  the  uniform  may  open  the  way 
for  you  out  of  Dresden,  for  1  know  of  no 
other  which  the  maclJnations  of  your  ene- 
mies have  not  already  barred  against  you  j 
and  you  will,  moreover,  ^n  this  way  be  free 
from  all  further  search  ;  for  once  in  the  army, 
you  are  under  my  protection  and  care.  1 
know  that  the  alternative  is  hard,  but  it  is 
the»)nly  one." 

"  And  could  we  not  leave  tlie  city  under  the 
uniform,  and  tliea  take  some  other  road  ?" 
asked  Bernard,  in  whose  mind  there  arose  a 
certain  suspiciop  agau^Rasinski. 

"  I  can  only  give  ^K  passports  to  War- 
saw. I  have  t|ie  permeiron  and  means  of  do- 
ing so.  There  you  must  report  yourselves  to 
the  commander  of  the  division  to  v.hich  I 
belong.  Should  you  follow  any  other  route 
than  that  prescribed  you  by  my  passport,  yoa 
would  be  taken  up  as  deserters  ;  I  myself 
would  not  be  able  to  shield  you  any  longer. 
And  in  what  other  manner  would  you  escape 


out  of  Dresden  ?  Where  would  you  go  ? 
With  tiie  police  you  are  already  spotted  men 
and  denounced  as  fupitives  or  skulking  de- 
linquents. Tlie  authorities  every  where  re- 
ceive orders  for  your  apprehension  ;  there  is 
not  a  single  nook  dn  the  entire  continent, 
where  the  power  of  the  French  police  would 
not  reach  you — witli  the  exception  of  the 
army,  where,  in  the  first  place  tbey  will  not 
seek  you,  and- where,  in  the  second  place,  the 
immediate  interlerenee  of  the  commander 
frustrates  all  searcb." 

"  1  shall  know  how  to  submit  to  that  whicli 
cannot  be  avoided,"  said  Louis  firmly  ;  "  but 
my  mother — my  sister,  they  wilt  be  left  in- 
consolable !  their  sorrow  v.ill  cause  ine  in- 
describable anguish  !  and  thee,  my  Ber- 
nard !     Oh  !  that  I  should  plunge  thee  into 


*  % 


a^ 


46 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  A! 


turned    away 
sorrowfully  to 


his 
bis 


his   abyss!"      Here    he 
head,  and  put  bis  hand^< 
brow.  M 

Bernard  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
gloomy  and  in  silence  ;  after  a  few  moments 
iiad  passfcd  in  this  manner,  he  began  :         ^ 

"  Soldier  or  galley-slave,  according  to  my 
notion,  is  all  one  and  the  same.  For  my  part, 
I  should  with  pleasure  sooner  let  myself  be 
hanged.  But  even  if  fate  did  not  now  join  our 
destinies  together,  if  I  could  fly  to  England 
free  as  a  bird — here^  is  my  hand  upon  it — ^I 
would  don  the  livery  and  bethy  comrade.  I 
require  nothing  more  than  that  thou  believest 
me." 

Louis  gave  him  his  hand  in  silence,  but 
turned  his  head  away  in  deep  emotion. 

"  You  will  learn  to  like  your  lot  yet,  my 
friends,"  said  Rasinski ;  "  for  I  hope  you 
will  become  acquainted  only  with  the  agree- 
able and  glorious  realities  of  our  profession. 
You  enter  as  volunteers  ;  by  some  manage- 
ment I  will  keep  you  near  my  own  person. 
We  will  live  together  as  friends  and  mess- 
mates, and  lodge  beneath  the  same  tent.  I 
might  raise  you  to  the  rank  of  commissioned 
officers  on  the  spot ;  but  it  would  be  against 
my  conscience  an3  your  own  choice  ;  for  as 
those  in  command,  even  of  a  small  number, 
you  would  assume  responsibilities  from 
which  the  Emperor  himself  could  not  absolve 
you.  Not  to  run  such  risks,  therefore^  you 
must  learn  to  Understand  the  service  and 
know   what  war  is.     Ypa  cannot   be   stim- 


NcAnvE^ 


OR, 


ulated   by  militar 
therefore,  which 
be  far  better, 
free  intercourse 
ship  will  |)Tocure  for 
leges  and  advantages 


wSn  t 


ambition ;  the  relations, 

all  select  for  you,  will 

education  secures  you 

the  officers  ;  my  friend- 

you  those  other  privi- 

which  are  valued   by 


cultivated  minds.  When  a  few  months  shall 
have  rolled  by,  some  means  may  perhaps  be 
found  to  brinff  all  to  rijihts  again.  Look 
upon  your  new  pursuit  merely  as  a  disguise, 
which  you  have  assumed  only  temporarily  ; 
at  all  events,  you  would  ho  obliged  to  elude 
the  prying  e^'es  of  yor.r  enemies  by  some 
kind  of  masquerading  or  other.  That  which 
I  propose  seems  to  me  at  least  the  most  hon- 
orable, the  easiest  to  be  endured,  and  what  is 
particularly  to  be  considered — the  only  safe 
one." 

The  good  sense  and  good  will  manifested 
by  Rasinski's  speech,  inspired  confidence 
even  in  the  stubborn  Bernard,  and  in  some 
degree  allayed  his  violent  opposition.  Louis 
confessed,  that  there  was  no  choice  left  him  ; 
With  the  aid  of  a  strong  and  enlightened 
judgment  he  knew  how  to  yield  to  necessity. 
But  it  pained  his  noble  soul  exceedingly  to 
involve  mother,  sister,  and  friend  in  this  com- 
mon calamity. 

"  Does  my  mother  already  inow,"  he  ask- 


ed in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  all  that  has  hap- 
pened?" ^ 
"  She  is  sufficiently  prepared,'^  answere<i> 
Rasinski,  "and  has  submitted  to  the  stem 
decree  of  necessity  with  a  fortitude  which  I 
must  admire.  Your  sister  is  much  more 
deeply  affected." 

"  Mary !"  exclaimed  Louis  in  agony. 
"  Oh,  I  know  well  what  it  is  that  particularly 
wounds  her  !     That  true  German  hearts" 

Dark  cloudy  shadows  lingered  on  Ber- 
nard's brow. 

"  But  will  they  not  lay  my  escape  to  the 
charge  of  my  mother  ?"  continued  Louis. 
"  Will  she  not  have  to  dread  the  vengeance 
of  those  in  power  ?  Should  I  learn  that  she 
experiences  the  smallest  insult,  I  will  re- 
turn !" 

"  Be  easy,  my  friend,"  -answered  Rasin- 
ski ;  "  I  have  already  arranged  every  thing, 
so  that  your  friends  shall  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

Bernard  was  silent;  in  his  soul,  compre- 
hensively regarding  every  circumstance,  the 
terrible  suspicion  had  been  engendered  that 
Rasinski  was  insincere.  He  was  alraelk 
resolved  to  obtain  certainty  on  this  point  by 
one  bold  step,  and  to  declare  that  he  would 
not  obey,  not  become  a  soldier,  but  look  out 
for  himself.  Only  his  previously  formed  de- 
termination to  share  Louis'  fate,  were  it  ever 
so  hard,  kept  him  from  committing  this  rash- 
ness. "  I  will  take  my  share  in  whatever 
happens.  I  partake  of  the  destiny  and  choice 
of  my  friend  ;  more  I  cannot  promise,"  he 
said  after  a  few  seconds'  pondering,  reaching 
the  Count  his  hand. 

Rasinski  suspected  what  took  place  in  his 
mind 4  for  a  few  moments  it  vexed  him,  but 
his  magnanimous  spirit  forgave  the  wrong 
done  him  by  the  sus|Mcion  almost  as  quickly 
as  he  had  discovered  it. 

"  Listen  to  what  has  been  done,"  said  he. 
"  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  are  already  informed 
of  everything.  1  have  procured  a  courier's 
pass  for  Jaromir,  under  the  pretext  that  I  |^-. 
must  send  him  before  me  witii  all  possible 
speed,  on  account  (  f  the  organization  ©t  my 
regiment.  You  both  receive  passes  from  me 
as  your  chief,  and  go  with  him.  -These 
legitimate  documents  will  be  perfectly  satis- 
factory. Boleslaus,  whose  stature  much  re- 
sembles yours,  has  caused  a  French  regi- 
mental tailor  to  measure  him  for  two  imiforms, 
which  will  be  ready  tliis  afierndon,  so  that 
you  may  pass  unknown  out  of  the  city,  even  - 
in  broad  day.  As  to  money  and  otlier  neces- 
saries, it  will  be  my  care  to  provide,  when 
first  only  you  are  in  safety,  and  fof  the  pre- 
sent Jaromir  is  fully  supplied." 

The  latter  just  then  entered  the  room. 
Like  most  other  young  men,  he  was  in  ecsta- 
cies  at  having  been  entrusted  with  this  cora- 


>>.  • 


* 


naAlh^' 


S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


mitflon.    He  greeted  his  new  comrades  most 
cordially,  and  promised  them  the  happiest 

"  You  do  not  yet  know  what  a  glorious 
thing  war  is,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is  very 
pleasant  here  in  Dresden — yea,  wonderfully 
charming,"  he  said,  coloring  up,  probably 
thinking  of  some  one  of  the  beautiful  girls 
•with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted  on  the 
preceding  day ;  "  but  still  I  would  not  ex- 
change the  sweetest  sojourn  here,  for  my 
horse  and  my  sword.  The  choicest  blessings 
would  render  me  miserable,  were  I  never 
again  to  join  in  the  fray  !  And  then  you 
should  see  Warsaw,  my  native  city !  Oh, 
how  it  will  please  you !" 

The  amiable  frankness  of  the  youth  did 
not  fail  to  make  an  impression.  Boleslaus 
also  soon  returned,  bringing  the  intelligence 
that  the  uniforms  would  be  ready  precisely  at 
six  o'clock.  This  serious  young  man,  how- 
ever much  attached  to  the  profession  of  arms, 
<elt  the  weight  of  the  unhappy  circumstances 
in  which  L<)uis  and  Bernard  were  placed, 
and  granted-  them  his  most  hearty  sympathy. 
*  Thus  the  time  passed,  in  the  most  cordial 
intimacy.  At  last  the  hour  of  departure 
arrived.  The  uniforms  came.  Bernard  and 
Louis  were  duly  clothed  in  their  new  habili- 
ments. Jaromir  prepared  for  his  journey. 
The  postilion  sounded  his  horn,  they  mounted 
the  vehicle,  and  rolled  away  through  the 
midst  of  the  city  and  the  walking  crowds  of 
promenaders  outside  the  gates,  without  one 
in  that  crowd  suspecting  what  a  sad  and 
singular  destiny  lay  hid  beneath  those  rich 
aiid  dashing  uniforms. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

It  was  late  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  that 
Jaromir,  Louis  and  Bernard,  from  a  neighbor- 
ing erninence,  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
spires  of  Warsaw.  The  road  for  a  consider- 
able timR  had  wound  through  a  dark  pine 
forest,  which  excluded  every  prospect.  It 
now  made  a  bend,  and  ascended  a  hill  over- 
grown with  fern  and  blackberry  bushes. 
From  its  summit,  a  widely-extended  plain 
was  seen  ;  at  the  farther  extremity  of  which 
arose  the  stately  palar.es  and  towers  of  the 
city  of  Warsaw.  The  fiery  Jaromir  called 
out  a  fierce  "  Halt !"  to  the  postilion,  and 
wifh  eyes  kindling  with  exultation,  sprang 
from  the  vehicle. 

"  That  is  my  native  city  !"  he  cried  ;  "  for 
eight  years  I  have  not  seen  it ;  but  still  I 
know  every  house,  every  gable-end,  every 
spire  in  it.    Come,  my  friends,  come,  and  let 


as  walk  up  the  hill.  Here  runs  a  path 
among  the  bushes,  which  leads  through  the 
meadows,  and  t>^  again  into  the  great  road. 
As  we  go  alongH^  will  point  out  to  you  the 
most  prominent  objects  of  the  place  all 
around  ;  far  as  your  eye  can  reach,  you  see 
not  a  church-steeple  where  there  are  not 
Polish  heroes  buried  who  bravely  fought  for 
their  country.  Oh!  when  will  this  land  see 
the  seeds  of  liberty  thrive  which  our  fathers 
have  manured  with  their  blood  !  Look  at 
that  village  right  before  us.  That  is  the 
Wielka  Wola,  where  Kosciusko  fought  in 
1794  ;  to  the  left,  behind  that  pine  grove,  you 
see  the  ptnnted  tower  of  Opalin,  and  farther 
down  that  of  Wawryscew.  At  both  places 
flowed  Polish  blood  in  that  same  year,  and  at 
Opalin  fell  my  uncle,  Casimir,  Count  Brc- 
scinski !  Oh,  my  friends,  here  many  a  one 
lies  buried  who  merits  our  tears  I  I  wish 
we  had  arrived  here  at  some  other  hour,  for 
it  bodes  me  no  good  to  see  the  towers  of  my 
native  city  illumined  by  the  setting  sun." 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully  as  a  shadow 
of  patriotic  sorrow  clouded  his  open,  cheerful 
brow. 

"  Thou  art  an  unskilled  soothsayer,"  cried 
Bernard,  in  a  lively  mood  ;  "  I  will  expound 
our  advent  in  a  different  fashion.  Dost  thou 
not  return  to  thy  father-land  in  the  spring  of 
the  year,  when  every  plant  buds  and  blossoms 
anew  ?  Do  not  flowers  spring  up  on  the 
very  graves,  and  did  not  ewry  orchard  which 
we  passed  to-day  wave  like  a  sea  of  blossoms, 
when  the  gentle  T)reeze  plays  through  tlie 
tree-tops  ?  Surely,  thaMtood  there  adorned 
like  young  brides,  v.itl^Hir  green  garlands 
of  tender  leaves  partljffHdden  under  a  deli- 
cate veil  of  flowers.  In  the  autumn,  I  pro- 
mise you  rich  and  ripe  fruits  ;  then  you  will 
gather  the  increase,  and  celebrate  a  harvest- 
home,  which  shall  send  jojf  and  jubilee 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  !" 

"  Thou  art  a  prophet  t"  cried  Jaromir, 
vehemently,  clasping  Bernard  to  his  breast, 
and  planting  a  burning  kiss  on  his  brow  ; 
"if  thy  words  are  fulfilled,  may  the  jubilee 
sound  over  my  grave,  if  I  can  only  be  as- 
sured that  I  shall  sleep  in  the  free  and  happy 
soil  of  Poland !" 

During  this  demonstration,  the  young  men 
h^  descended  tlie  hill,  and  were  now  pro- 
ceeding on  a  pleasant  path  through  rich 
meadow-lands — Jaromir  continuing  to  direct 
their  attention  to  points  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  rendered  remarkable  in  history,  at 
the  same  time  recounting  those  exploits  by 
which  the  Polish  name  had  been  immortal- 
ized. After  a  good  half-hour's  walk,  they 
regained,  the  high-ruad,  mounted  their  car- 
riage, and  drove  rapidly  towards  the  gates 
of  the  capital. 

On  the  other  side  of  Wielka  Wola,  the 


48 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED 


landscape  became  more  animated  and  diversi- 
fied by  numerous  passengers  passing  to  and 
fro  on  fpot,  on  horsebaipk,  and  in  carriages 
and  wagons.  Jaromir  ♦irew  his  flashing 
black  eyes  eagerly  around,  in  hope  to  dis- 
cover some  friend  or  acquaintance.  Fortune, 
however,  did  not  seem  to  favor  him  much. 
Somewhat  vexed,  he  exclaimed  : 
^  "  True  enough,  eight  years  makes  one  a 
stranger  in  his  own  country;  it  appears  I 
know  nobody  liere,  and  still  less  am  1  known 
by  any  one  !" 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when 
a  female  voice  from  a  carriage  coming  up 
from  behind,  and  passing  them,  uttered  : 

"  Count  Jaromir !  is  it  possible  ?  dr  do  I 
deceive  mysdf  ?" 

Jaromir  quickly  turned  around  on  hear- 
ing his  name  pronounced,  and,  forgetting 
almost  that  he  was  on  the  public  highway, 
and  in  the  company  of  strangers,  he  cried 
out  loudly : 

"  Countess  Miciel*ka  ! — God  in  heaven  ! 
do  you  know  mc  still  ?" 

The  coaclimen,  seeing  that  a  conversation 
had  begun  between  Jaromir  and  the  lady, 
stopped  their  horses  without  further  orders. 
The  Countess  was  a  woman  of  a  noble  and 


majestic  person ;    she  tnight  be   somewhat  "process  of  orgnnization.     It  had  previously 


over  thirty,  but  her  black  nnd  piercing  eyes 
glistened  yet  with  the  fire  of  youth  under  the 
high  and  snow-white  forehead,  surrounded 
with  glossy  curls  of  rich  dark-brown  hair. 
In  her  youth  she  must  have  been  of  ravi-hing 
beauty.  Bernard's  artfetical  eye  had  record- 
ed her  as  Rasin|ki's  sister  before  Jaromir, 
had  found  time  MMtroduce  her  as  such.  He 
delivered  her  aa||Pen  letter  from  Rasinski, 
which  in  a  few  Words  explained  .his  con- 
nexion with  the  friends  and  recommended 
them  to  a  hospitable  welcome. 

"  How  ^lad  I  am,"  said  the  Countess, 
warmly,  after  hastily  perusing  the  missive, 
"  that  i  liaiipened  to  encounter  you  directly 
on  your  arrival !  Of  course  you  will  take  up 
your  residence  with  me ;  your  time,  I  fear, 
will  only  be  too  limited;  you  cannot,  then, 
complain  if  I  wish  to  improve  every  leisure 
moment,  in  order  to  obtain  intelligence  of  my 
brother,  and  of  the  fate  of  so  many  dear  and 
esteemed  coi^ntrymen.  On  that  account  vou 
must  overlook  my  selfishness  if  I  make  you 
my  constant  companions,  or,  if  you  chbose, 
prisoners  in  my  house." 

She  uttered  these  kin  J  words,  under  whose 
modest  guise  she  veiled  her  hospitable  intent, 
apparently  more  with  cordiality  than  friend- 
ship, so  that  all  were  sensible  t^jat  it  was  to 
her  a  most  joyful  evenfc  to  meet  her  young 
countryman,  and  to  welcome  him  and  his 
comrades  to  her  house.  She  replied  to 
Jaromir's  ardent  thanks  by  saying  that  she 
would  hasten  forward  to  prepare  for  the  re- 


f 

a:iAi|||' 


-"J|i«».'-.v    ' 


■^P" 


VE;   OR, 


ception.of  her  guests.     Her  coachn^n  put 
her  handsome  greys  into  a   brisk  trot,  Ihe^i 
Countess    giving   a   friendly    bow   as    8h6 
drove  by.  •         ^  - 

"An  excellent  omen,"  cried  Bernard— 
"  which  is  worth  more,  I  ween,  than  thp 
twelve  vultures  Romulus  saw  on  the  Anieh-i 
tine  hill,  thongh  a  flight  of  birds  hardly  ever 
prognosticated  great  things.  In  a  city  19 
which  we  are  made  welcome  by  such  a  Juno, 
all  Olympus  certainly  must  open  its  doors." 

Jaromir  smiled. 

Our  friends  arrived  at  the  city  gate,  where, 
being  strangers,  they  experienced  some  de- 
lay ;  it  was  therefore  night-fall  when  they 
drove  up  before  the  palace  of  the  Countess. 
It  was  a  spacious  edifice,  built  in  a  noble 
but  somewhat  antique  style.  Two  lackeys 
sprang  to  the  steps,  anoiho"  received  the 
travellers  and  conducted  them  to  the  apart-  , 
ment  prepared  for  their  reception.  • 

"  The  Countess,"  said  the  valet,  "  begs  the 
gentlemen  to  make  themselves  comfortablej 
and  then,  as  soon  as  convenient,  they  will 
please  to  join  her  in  the  saloon." 

The  travellers  were  quickly  ready  with 
their  toilets — that  is,  they  had  put  on  iTie 
uniforms  of  the  new  regiment  that  was  in 


been  agreed  upon  that  Louis  and  Bernard 
should  lay  aside  their  real  names  and  adopt  ' 
others.  The  first,  by  a  slight  transposition 
of  letters,  had  taken  the  name  of  Soren  ;  Ber- 
nard, in  commemoration  of  an  adventure 
once  at  Loch  Lomond,  in  Scotland,  and  being  - 
addicted  to  singularity,  gave  himself  out  as 
Count  Lomond.  '  • 

They  now  proceeded  to  the  saloon.  The 
Countess  met  them  at  the  door,  with  renewed  * 
welconwjs.  Her  tall  and  majestic  figure  was 
now  first  seen  to  advantage,  and  it  was  ob- 
served how  striking  was  the  resemblance  to 
her  brother,  even  in  that  particular. 

•'  Let  us  be  seated,"  she  said,  turning  to 
all  around.  "  In  the  iirst  place,  I  must  know 
something  about  those  whom  I  have  the^ 
honbr  to  entertain  as  guests,  which  you  will^ 
pardon  on  the  score  of  female  curiosity  ;  for 
my  brother  writes  merely  that  Count  Jaromir 
is  accompanied  by  two  friends." 

"  Perhaps  we  are  best  qualified  to  give  an 
account  of  ourselves,"  replied  Bernard.  "In 
me  you  behold  a  half-Scottish  nobleman, 
though  born  in  Germany ;  but  I  really  believe 
that  my  title  of  Count  is  worth  no  more  than 
my  estates,  which,  indeed,  1  would  not  barter 
too  cheaply  for  the  shadowy  substanoes  of  a 
magic- lantern.  However,  those  to  wltom  a 
name  is  of  any  value  may  well  be  satisfied 
with  that  of  Count  Lomond.  For  my  part,  I 
must  confess  that  I  am  prouder  of  my  pro- 
fession than  of  my  rank,  and  consequently  •> 
appreciate  my  pencil  much  higher  than  uiy     * 


•#; 


•iT:- 


NAPOtEO!l?S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


escutcheon.  You  understand,  then,  most 
gracious  lady,  that  you  see  before  you  a 
painter,  who  all  his  life-time  has  had  the 
duty  imposed  upon  him  of  providing  for  the 
wants  of  a  nobleman,  which,  aside  from  his 
being  profoundly  grateful,  is  the  only  merit 
the  latter  possesses." 

"  Perhaps,  then,"  said  the  Countess,  smil- 
ing, '•  your  pencil  might  renovate  your  escut- 
cheon a  little." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  answered  Bernard  ;  "  but, 
then,  it  certainly  will  be  the  last  job  which 
he  undertakes." 

Without  waiting  for  questioning,  Louis 
announced  himself,  giving  as  a  reason  for  his 
military  choice,  his  general  attachment  to  the 
profession,  and  in  which  his  friend  shared  ; 
his  motive  in  chosing  the  Polish  costume  was 
founded,  he  said,  on  his  acquaintance  with 
Count  Rasinski. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  the 
thought,"  said  the  Countess, "  that  friendship 
for  my  brother  moved  you  to  espouse  the 
cause  of  our  country.  Yes,  we  hope  and 
expect  much  from  this  war,  which  is  now  on 
the  eve  of  commencing  ;  it  will  to  us  be  a 
sacred  contest." 

"This  also  is  a  reason,"  replied  Louis, 
"  why  I  wished  to  serve  in  a  Polish  division, 
though  a  German  myself;  for  the  cause  of 
Poland,  in  this  struggle,  is  unquestionably  a 
just  and  noble  one.  As  a  German,  it  is  «ot 
my  business  to  fight  for  the  French  Emperor. 
In  the  present  situation  of  my  father-land, 
which  is  almost  as  wretched  as  is  that  of 
Poland,'  I  cannot  fight  for  him.  To  the 
armies  of  Germany  is  reserved  only  the 
doubtful  honor  of  maintaining  the  fame  of 
German  prowess  ;  there  exists  no  higher  aim 
in  this  campaign  for  which  the  blood  of  my 
countryman  may  be  spilt." 

"  I  even  believe,"  said  the  Countess, "  that 
the  majority  would  rather  be  beaten  than 
gain  the  victory." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Louis ;  "  but  still  I 
would  not  count  myself  among  that  number. 
Germany  has  need  of  another  alliance  than 
that  which  Russia  can  offer  us.  The  physi- 
cal migiit  of  this  Colossus  may  benefit  my 
country  so  far  as  to  snatch  it  from  the  foreign 
influence  under  which  it  now  groans  ;  but  I 
fear  lest  this  piece  of  service  would  cost  us 
too  dear,  and  that  in  the  end,  perhaps,  we 
would  only  have  made  an  exchange  of  mas- 
ters. Be  it  my  fate,  however,  to  be  subjected 
to  one  of  the  two,  no  one  will  blame  me  for 
preferring  the  dominion  of  a  gigantic  mind, 
to  the  barbarous  sway  of  mere  physical 
force." 

"  Unquestionably,"  cried   Bernard,  taking 

the  matter  in  his  usual  lively  way,  "  a  man 

of  honor,  who  is  made  to  decide  between  the 

sword  and  the  knout,  will  choose  the  former. 

3 


We  can  find  no  spot  better  calculated  to 
warn  us  against  Russia,  than  the  capital  of 
Poland,  where  the  wind  yet  stirs  the  ashes 
of  the  firebrands  the  barbarous  enewiy  threw 
within  these  walls." 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  painfully, 
"  we  can  still  feel  the  cry  of  distress  which 
then  arose  ;  it  has  not  yet  died  away  on  the 
breeze.  I  was  a  witness,  though  young,  of 
those  heart-rending  scenes  ;  but  those  spec- 
tacles of  terror  are  forever  enstamped  on  my 
soul.  I  can  easier  forget  my  own  name, 
than  the  impress  of  helpless  despair  which  at 
that  tirae>  lacerated  every  heart." 

Having  uttered  these  words,  she  rose, 
overpowered  with  excitement,  and  walked 
quickly  a  few  times  up  and  down  the  saloon. 
The  men  kept  silence.  Finally,  Jaromir  be- 
gan : 

"  There  is  a  change  coming,  and  it  will  be 
otherwise ;  the  penance  laid  upon  us  by  the 
hand  of  an  avenging  Nemesis  draws  to  an 
end.  I  believe.  Countess,  that  the  time  is 
near  when  we  are  to  be  restored  from  our 
Babylonian  bondage  to  the  fold  of  our  fore- 
fathers." 

The  Countess,  still  pacing  the  room,  seem- 
ed to  have  heard  only  the  first  words  of 
Jaromir. 

"  There  is  a  change  coming — it  will  be 
otherwise  !"  she  repeated.  "  It  must  be 
otherwise.  And  if  it  continued  thus  for  a 
thousand  years,  still,  the  voice  in  my  breast 
would  cry — '  It  must  be  otherwise  !'  Or,  do 
you  imagine  that  the  mother,  who  lies  bound 
hand  and  foot  on  the  groupd,  while  robbers 
murder  her  infant,  only  bWeves  in  an  aveng- 
ing God  ?  No,  she  sees  him ;  his  avenging 
arm  must  punifeh  the  atrocious  deed.  He 
must  do  it,  or  heaven  is  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
entreaty,  and  there  is  no  Ruler  above  us  !" 

Uttering  these  last  words,  she  raised  her 
hand  in  a  half-menacing,  half-confident  atti- 
tude ;  her  eyes  rolled,  a  noble  anger  flushed 
her  cheek.  Only  in  the  moi^t  glistening  of 
a  tear,  still  quivering  on  her  eye-lashes,  was 
to  be  seen  a  trace  of  that  gentler  mood  from 
which  her  absorbing  passion  had  forced  her. 

"  How  many  times  have  I  not  undertaken," 
she  said,  after  a  pause,  moving  her  head  with 
sad  and  self-reproving  expression,  and  letting 
her  upraised  hand  sink  into  its  natural 
position,  "  to  make  myself  mistress  of  my 
feelings  ;  yet  always  are  they  too  strong  foi 
me  !  Oh,  this  pain  does  not  grow  dull  in  my 
bosom  !  It  rises  afresh  with  every  new  sun. 
and  is  not  abated  at  his  setting." 

At  this  moment  there  was  heard,  borne  on 
the  mild  May  breeze  of  the  night,  through 
the  open  windows  of  the  saloon,  a  sweet, 
silvery  voice,  still  at  some  distance,  but  quiL<> 
distinct,  blended  in  sweet  melody  with  the 
sound  of  a  harp.     All  listened  intently. 


^ 


M 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ANDl^TWELVE ;  OR, 


**  The  lovely  siren,  Frances  AJisette,"  said 
the  Countess,  smiling.  "  This  little  sorceress 
has  many  a  time  dispelled  those  gloomy 
dreams  which  crowd  so  heavily  about  me. 
She  is  a  young  cantatrice,  who  belongs  to 
the  theatre  here  in  Warsaw." 

All  listened  attentively  to  the  sweet  song- 
stress; when  she  ceased,  the  Countess  rang 
a  bell,  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  the  valet  in 
waiting.    He  left  the  room. 

"  I  expect  the  visit  of  some  female  friends 
this  evening,"  she  said,  addressing  her  guests ; 
•*I  hope  it  will  not  be  disagreeable  to  you*" 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  a 
side-door,  and  the  entrance  of  a  young  lady 
attired  in  a  light  summer -dress.  The  gentle- 
men rose  from  their  seats  with  polite  alac- 
rity, and  the  Countess  rose  to  meet  the  new- 
comer, took  her  by  the  hand,  and  presented 
her  with  these  words : 

"  My  home-teompanion  ;  the  name  I  with- 
hold, as  Count  Jaromir  must  give  us  proof 
whether  he  possesjses  a  retentive  memory." 

Jaromir  looked  at  the  charming  figure  with 
that  expression  of  uncertainty  which  a  chal- 
lenge of  recognition  is  apt  to  prod^uce,  when 
one  is  not  very  firm  iti  his  reminiscences. 
The  noble  features  of  the  incognito  were 
suffused  with  an  amiable  blush.  In  her 
maidenly  timidity  she  presented  an  alir;ost 
nun-like  appearance,  in  part  occasioned  by 
the  large  many-folded  white  veil  which  she 
wore.  It  was  fastened  by  a  golden  pin  in 
her  dark  hair,  thrown  lightly  behind  the 
tresses,  resting  on  her  cheek,  and  then  float- 
ing down  over  her  shoulders  almost  to  the 
knee.  On  the  other  side  it  covered  a  freshly- 
blown  rose,  its  bright  colors  half-concealed 
by  the  fine  tissue.  The  slender  stature, 
more  revealed  than  hid  by  the  ample  summer- 
costume,  the  shyness  and  hesitancy  observ- 
able in  the  whole  attitude,  the  bashful  smile, 
the  timid  yet  trusting  look,  completed  the 
bewitching  grace  so  conspicuous  in  that  ap- 
parition. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Jaromir  at  last,  "  I  feel 
quite  ashamed ;  if  you  had  any  daughters, 
Countess — " 

"  You  would  still  guess  wrong,"  she  inter- 
rupted him. 

"  I  was  too  much  of  a  child,"  began  the 
unknown,  in  a  sweet  voice,  "  to  dare  enter- 
tain any  claim  to  be  kept  in  mind,  even  by  so 
near  a  relative." 

On  this  hint,  Jaromir  fastened  his  eyes 
more  searcliintrly  on  the  charming  creature; 
she  smiled  sweetly,  as  if  she  would  say  : — 
"  Well,  dost  thou  not  know  me  yet  ?"  Then 
suddenly  he  cried  out : 

"  Lodoiska,  is  it  thou  ?" 

"  Found  it  at  last,"  said  the  (jountess  ;  hut 
Jaromir  had  seized  Lodoiska's  hand,  kissed 
it  passionately,  and  then  drew  the  blushing 


girl  gently  towards  him,  embraced  her,  and, 
according  to  Polish  custom,  imprinted  the 
unrestrained  kiss  on  her  brow.  She  ajQ8wer< 
ed  the  greeting  in  a  similar  manner,  4  kittle 
abashed,'  but  quite  cordially. 

"  Tiie  long-deceased  parents  of  these  two 
young  people  were  brothers,"  the  Countess 
began,  in  explanation  to  Louis  and  Bernard. 
"  The  mother  on  her  death-bed  bequeathed 
to  me  this  lovely  gift.  She  was  my  most 
intimate  friend,"  she  added  in  a  few  moments, 
sorrowfully,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  full  of 
benignity  on  Lodoiska.-  "  My  foster-daughter 
and  her  Cousin  Jaromir  were  brought  up  to- 
gether, and  have  throughout  tiieir  early 
years  regarded  each  other  as  brother  and 
sister." 

And  to  say  the  truth,  the  intimacy  between 
Jaromir  and  Lodoiska  was  quickly  re-estab- 
lished. Jaromir  sat  down  by  Lodoiska,  would 
not  let  go  her  hand,  and  asked  her  a  thousand 
questions. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  rattling  of  a  car- 
riage was  heard,  and  presently  there  entered 
two  elderly  ladies,  whom  the  Countess  intro- 
duced as  her  friends.  The  conversation  now 
became  general ;  the  manners  and  language 
were  predominantly  French  ;  but  the  Coun- 
tess, who  spoke  the  German  very  fluently, 
often  turned  to  Louis  and  Bernard,  address- 
ing them  in  that  language,  because  she  loved 
it,  and  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  noble 
eloquence  in  which  Louis  in  particular  clothed 
his  thoughts  when  speaking. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Thus  was  the  party  engaged  in  very  ani- 
mated conversation,  in  nowise  curtailed  or 
embarrassed  by  the  occasional  crossings  of 
three  distinct  languages. 

"  I  should  be  surprised,"  said  the  Countess, 
during  a  momentary  general  pause,  "  if  the 
Colonel  should  not  come,  as  he  seldom 
neglects  passing  an  evening  with  me.  I 
know  very  well,  it  is  true,  that  there  is  no 
one  to  fetter  him  here  in  the  house,  but  he 
often  meets  with  a  favorite,  and  it  would  be 
the  case  now,  though  I  originally  did  not 
design  this  surprise." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?"  asked 
Bernard.  "  Whom  can  you  be  waiting  for 
that  would  be  more  likely  to  retain  a  man 
captive  in  the  house  than  the  ladies  already 
present  ?"' 

"  That  remains-  my  secret,  but  not  long,  I 
hope — at  least  till  I  can  answer  by  deeds ; 


■*■ 


M 


'mr 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


51 


and  indeed  I  can  do  so  already,"  said  the 
Countess,  looking  toward  the  door,  and  hast- 
ening ^o  meet  the  young  person  who  just 
then  entered.  "  How  kind !"  she  said  to  the 
new-comer,  "  to  respond  to  my  invitation  by 
each  a  friendly  compliance.  But  your  notes 
drew  me  so  sweetly  and  irresistibly  that  I 
could  not  forego  venturing  the  impertinent 
request." 

"  Why  will  you  always  make  me  feel 
ashamed  ?"  answered  Frances  Alisette,  for 
she  it  was,- in  the  most  charming  silver-tones, 
while  inclining  to  kiss  the  Countess'  hand. 
The  Countess,  however,  averted  it,  and  kissed 
the  lovely  girl  right  heartily  on  her  fresh 
and  pouting  lips.    "  You  know  but  too  well," 
said  Frances, "  how  very  happy  it  renders 
me  when  I  can  spend  an  evening  with  you." 
The  character  of  this  young  girl  was  made 
up  of  an  affectionate  tenderness  and  roguish 
playfulness ;    it  was  dubious  whether    she 
was  sincere  in  Xvhat  she  said,  or  whether  she 
only  made  sport  of  the  Countess.     But  even 
if  the  latter  were  the  case,  one  could  not 
help  forgiving  it,  as  it  was  done  with  so 
amiable  a  grace  that  no  one  could  think  of 
taking  offeree.     Led  by  the  Countess,  she 
now  approached  the   company,  saluted  all 
around  with  a  friendly  mien,  as  if  knowing 
them,  and  then  seated  herself  between  Jaromir 
and  Bernard.     She  immediately  commenced 
a  lively  chat,  in  which  Bernard  joined  her  ; 
Jaromir    seemed    very    much    struck  with 
his  pretty  neighbor,  but  continued  his  confi- 
dential chat  with  Lodoiska.     Alisette  was 
merry  and  sad  by  turns ;  she  passed  with 
astonishing  rapidity  from  one  extreme  to  the 
other,  without  the  least  affectation,  design 
or  effort   being  perceptible.      Her  features 
were  ever  the  faithful  mirror  of  her  feelings, 
or  rather  her  expressions,  either  from  habit 
as  an  actress,  or  from  natural  facility.     This 
lent  her  a  peculiar  grace,  difficult  to  describe : 
her  countenance  in  some  respects  was  that 
of  a  child,  which  instantly  and  distinctly  be- 
trays the  slightest  shade  of  pleasure  or  of 
pain.     But  nothing  could  exceed  her  delight 
when  she  learned  that  Bernard  had  seen 
England  and  Scotland. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "  then  I  have  at 
last  found  somebody  with  whom  I  can  talk 
of  the  land  where  I  saw  my  happiest  days, 
and  my  saddest  too,"  'she  quickly  added, 
sorrowfully. 

"  You  have  passed  both  your  Ijappiest  and 
your  saddest  days  there  ?"  asked  Bernard.  "I 
can^most  say  the  same  respecting  myself. 
But  may  I  venture  to  ask  what  marred  your 
happiness  ?  for  it  would  be  rather  venture- 
some to  enquire  the  source  whente  it 
sprung" 


capricious,"  cried  Alisette,  with  mock  dis- 


pleasure, puckering  her  brow  into  many 
formidable  wrinkles.  "  Just  like  the  men ; 
for  you  all  have  the  vanity-to  imagine  that 
there  can  be  no  happiness  without  you." 

"  And  is  it  not  sufficiently  modest,"  an- 
swered Bernard,  entering  into  her  playful 
mood,  "  that  I  at  least  presume  that  there 
may  be  other  causes  of  unhappiness  ?" 

"  No.  You  must  not  jest  about  such 
things,"  said  Frances,  mournfully,  but  in  so 
low  a  tone  that  her  words  reached  Bernard, 
only.  "  It  was  there  that  I  lost  my  only  sis- 
ter, whom  I  loved  above  everything,  and 
who  shortly  before  had  become  a  widow, 
leaving  me  no  other  memento  than  her  littlo 
orphan  daughter,  Nadine,  who  one  day  must 
fill  her  mother's  place  with  me.  Oh,  sir,  you 
cannot  believe  how  much  misery  may  be 
crowded  together  in  one  short  life !  You 
rich  and  great  ones  little  know  into  what 
straits  the  poor,  and  particularly  a  helpless 
girl,  may  too  easily  be  brought !  But  we 
must  leave  this.  It  is  not  a  fit  subject  for 
discussion  m  company.  But  rather  tell  me 
how  you  were  pleased  with  England." 

"  Not  so  well  as  with  Scotland,"  answer- 
ed Bernard  ;  "  for  there  I  was  attracted  by 
the  wonderful  character  of  the  naturail 
scenery,' and  of  the  people.  In  Scotland,  too, 
I  found  a  thousand-fold  better  subjects  for  my 
pencil — for  I  am  a  painter."  ^ 

"  You  are  a  painter  !"  exclaimed  Alisette, 
joyfully.  "Oh,  that  is  excellent!  Then 
you  have,  no  doubt,  brought  a  good  many 
drawings  with  you,  which  you  must  let  me 
see ;  for  I  have  also  travelled  a  good  deal  in 
that  country." 

"  Very  willingly,"  replied  Bernard,  "  But 
for  every  leaf  which  I  shall  show  you,  you 
must  sing  me  a  song." 
.  "  A  thousand,  with  pleasure,"  said  Ali- 
sette, merrily,  every  trace  of  seriousness 
having  vanished  from  her  face,  "  Or  do  you 
believe  that  I  sing  with  reluctance?  Oh, 
no  ;  my  whole  soul  is  joyful  when  I  sing,"  ^ 
Bernard  was  about  answering: 
"  Well,  then,  make  yourself  and  others 
happy,"  when  their  chat  was  broken  off  by 
the  entrance  of  a  stranger,  Colonel  Regnara, 
He  was  a  man  of  stately  mien,  perhaps  forty 
years  of  age,  but  his  lineaments  seemed 
to  indicate  that  he  had  enjoyed  life  fastej 
than  is  generally  wholesome.  A  broad  scar 
descended  his  temple  to  the  eye,  but  did  not 
particularly  disfigure  his  brow.  His  look  yet 
possessed  some  waning  fire ;  his  features 
were  marked,  decided,  indicative  of  mind 
but  without  animation.  As  for  the  res^t,  he 
possessed  that  easy,  gentlemanly  demeanor 
which  a  Frenchman  seldom  acquires  but 
with  the  age  and  rank  of  a  Colonel ;  and 


.  I ; ' 


"You  prove  yourself  at  once  both  vain  andi  ^which  the  German  assumes  ten  years  ear 


ISer. 


^."0^  ' 


** 


.r.-U'c  JF  jU-  iU^ 


52 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


Regnard  approached  the  hostess,  and  sa- 
inted her  with  the  graceful  ease  of  a  man  of 
the  world.  To  the  rest  of  the  company,  he 
made  a  comprehensive  bow,  without  signal- 
izing any  in  particular.  On  Alisette,  alone, 
he  hestowed  a  confident  look. 

"  I  see,"  he  began,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few 
moments,  "  something  doubly  remarkable  to 
me ;  three  entirely  unknown  gentlemen,  in 
an  equally  unknown  uniform.  May  I  beg 
of  you,"  turning  to  the  Countess,  "  to  make 
me  acquainted  with  my  comrades  in  arms." 

She  then  introduced  the  new-comers. 

"  So  Count  Rasinski  will  arrive  soon  ?" 
the  Colonel  remarked,  on  learning  the  con- 
nexion existing  between  himself  and  the  young 
men.  "  This  gives  me  great  pleasure — for 
we  have  shared  many  a  hot  day  together  in 
Spain  and  Italy.  An  excellent  soldier,"  he 
added,  dividing  his  address  between  the 
Countess  and  the  young  men;  "the  Em- 
peror could  have  selected  none  better,  as  the 
leader  of  a  free  corps.  The  Count  has  a 
military  eye,  which  grasps  the  relation  of 
great  operations  at  a  glance  and  judges 
with  precision  at  what  point  an  apparently 
trifling  aid  may  be  of  incalculable  service. 
The  majority  of  leaders  of  such  troops  err  in 
viewing  their  enterprises  as  detached,  and 
execute  them  accordingly.  It  is  very  well 
to  intercept  one  of  the  enemy's  transports  of 
provisions  ;  to  cut  off  a  detachment,  or  ha- 
rass and  fatigue  the  enemy.  But,  on  the 
whole,  it  benefits  but  little.  Tlie  true  parti- 
san must  either  enact  the  part  of  the  wasp, 
which  stings  the  huntsman's  hand,  at  the 
moment  of  firing ;  or  else  assume  that  of  the 
mouse,  which  knaws  the  net  in  which  the 
lion  is  entangled." 

The  Colonel  spoke  on  military  subjects 
with  great  perspicuity  and  decision,  yet  with- 
out sinking  into  that  disagreeable  tone  which 
teems  to  presuppose  giving  instruction  to 
perfect  tyros  and  imparting  to  them 
the  choicest  lessons  of  wisdom.  He  threw 
out  the  profoundest  observations  as  only  by 
chance,  as  things  which  were  understood  of 
themselves;  and  nothing  appeared  in  his 
generally  passive  and  immoveable  features 
which  savored  of  an  exaction  of  obsequious 
praise  for  the  value  6f  his  dicta.  So,  in 
this  instance,  everything  he  said  bore,  pro- 
perly speaking,  only  the  character  of  a  eulo- 
gy on  Count  Rasinski. 

Jaromir  responded  to  the  Colonel's  re- 
marks approvingly,  through  which  a  conver- 
sation on  military  matters  was  set  on  foot ; 
to  which  Louis  and  Bernard  listened  with 
much  intere.st.  This  drew  them  somewhat 
away  from  the  ladies,  and  they  were  conse- 
quently the  more  agreeably  surprised,  w  hen, 
suddenly  a  few  chords  were  heard  from  the 
opened  piano.   It  was  Frances  Alisette,  who, 


on  being  snnnnoned  to  sing,  bad,  with  a  play* 
fnl  grace,  seated  herself  at  the  instrument^ 
and  unconsciously  made  a  few  pascftges, 
while  looking  thoughtfully  up,  as  if  seeking 
something  that  would  do  to  perform. 

"  Hist !"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Now  let  as 
listen,  my  friends  !  Every  sound  of  this  sil- 
very voice  which  passes  unheard  is  an  irre- 
coverable loss." 

All  now  looked  at  Alisette,  who,  with  a 
gentle  undulation  of  her  pretty  little  head, 
sang  a  French  romance,  which  she  delivered 
with  much  feeling,  in  all  its  soft,  wave-like 
melody  ;  now  sinking,  now  hovering  high  in 
the  dominion  of  sound.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
charming  sight  to  behold  her.  For,  without 
betraying  any  design — without  employing 
any  afl!ected  play  of  the  features,  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  accordfid  with  that 
of  the  music,  and  of  the  words,  in  their  most 
delicate  turnings.  The  beautifully  curved . 
lineaments  of  her  face  seemed  to  be  moved 
by  the  'faintest  breath  of  sound,  as  the  tiny 
streamer  of  a  pennon  caressingly  bends  to 
the  faintest  breath  of  air. 

And  what  an  indescribable  grace  dwelt  in 
those  clear,  silvery  tones,  which  struck 
the  ear  so  delightfully,  and  seemed  to  pene- 
trate the  heart  with  such  touching  plaints 
and  entreaties.  Every  one  listened  with  sus- 
pended breath.  Bernard  suffered  his  eye  to 
rove  all  around.  He  would  have  been  glad 
to  sketch  everything  in  the  room  possessed 
of  eyes  and  ears  ;  for  the  interest  depicted  in 
every  countenance  imparted  to  each  a  pecu- 
liar character  for  the  pencil  to  portray.  From 
long  practice  of  deciphering  the  expression 
of  a  countenance  from  the  hidden  depths  of 
the  sould — being  convinced  that  all  forms  are 
subject  to  a  spiritual  law,  which  we  do  not 
always  readily  understand — he  was  now 
busily  employed  in  interpreting  those  beauti- 
ful hieroglyphics  before  him.  An  undertak- 
ing, by  the  way,  in  which  we  often  become 
involved  in  more  intricate  mistakes,  than  if 
trying  to  unravel  the  secrets  of  the  Egyptian 
catacombs  from  the  magic  writings  of  East- 
ern priests.  Two  facts,  however,  did  not 
escape  his  observation. 

Lodoiska  seemed  less  employed  by  thu 
song  tlian  in  watching  its  effect  on  Jaromir. 
He,  on  the  contrary,  was  so  completely  lost 
in  contemplation  of  the  singer,  that  he 
did  not  notice  how  she  directed  all  her  words 
and  looks  towards  him,  in  quite  a  striking 
manner. 

Bernard  made  a  third  discovery,  before  the 
song  was  concluded ;  namely,  that  the  Col> 
onel  appeared  to  have  shared  his  second  dis- 
covery, and  knitted  his  brow  very  portentously. 
Bernard  was  too  well  versed  in  the  school  of 
experience,  not  to  draw  a  number  of  infer- 
ences from  what  he  perceived.      Some  ex-j. 


%■ 


*. 


'■I 


^-. 


NAPOLEON'S   INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


m 


pres^ns  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of 
the  Countess  had  left  it  to  be  plainly  under- 
stood that  the  Colonel  labored  assiduously  to 
gain  the  favor  of  the  pretty  Alisette.  If  she 
then  accorded  the  preference  to  the  young 
and  handsome  Jaromir,  it  might  lead  to  seri- 
ous difficulties,  as  the  Colonel  did  not  look 
like  a  man  who  would  patiently  brook  a 
rival.  With  all  the  apparent  innocence  so 
conspicuous  in  the  demeanor  and  character 
of  Alisette,  Bernard  still  had  his  doubts 
whether  this  appearance  was  not  deceptive. 
In  his  life-time  he  had  enjoyed  frequent  op- 
portunities to  learn,  by  experience,  to  what 
extent  women  know  to  conceal  their  real 
characters  by  their  outward  conduct ;  and 
bow  difficult,  therefore,  it  is  to  distinguish 
if  an  innocent  look  proceeds  from  a  pure 
and  innocent  mind,  or  not  He  had  but 
very  slight  grounds  of  suspicion  against 
Alisette;  and  what  lie  had  just  noticed 
might  as  easily  be  the  result  of  accident  as 
of  design,  as  Jaromir  was  standing  directly 
opposite  to  her.  He  felt,  however,  as  if  an 
inward  voice  had  spoken  to  him.  The  beauti- 
ful clear  blue  mirror  of  placid  waters  which 
reflects  sunshine  and  sky  in  such  deliehtful 
refulgence,  conceals  a  dangerous  gim  be- 
neath !  On  the  contrary,  Lodoiska's  noble 
and,  mild  features  bespoke  incontestibly  the 
inmost  disposition  of  her  souL,  and  without 
being  more  than  usually  attracted  by  the 
graces  of  her  person,  her  aspect  seemed  in-^ 
disputably  to  tell  him« 

"  This  one,  thou  mayest  trust ;  her  eye  is 
also  her  heart." 

But,  did  not  that  same  eye,  so  anxiously 
rivetted  on  Jaromir,  appear  to  speak  and  say : 

"  Thou  trusty  friend  of  my  youth,  I  love 
thee  faithfully  in  my  inmost  heart !  Must  I 
stand  by  and  behold  this  tempting  siren 
weave  around  thee  the  silvery  chords  of  her 
music,  and  finally  rob  me  of  thee  forevAl'' 

As  soon  as  Frances  Alisette  had  finished 
her  song,  she  sprang  up  gaily,  and  flew  to 
Lodoiska,  who  was  siting  on  a  corner  of  the 
sofa. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Countess,"  she  pleaded, 
"  you  must  give  us  a  song ;  your  short 
Polish  national  airs  are  so  very  charming, 
however  little  I  may  understand  of  the 
words." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  Lodoiska  gently  de- 
clining ;  "  how  can  I  let  ray  saddening 
strains  and  unsteady  voice  be  heard  after 
your  beautiful  melodies !" 

"  Oh,  but  they  are  so  sweet,  so  touching  1 
For  do  you  think  that  I  have  not  overheard 
you,  when  sometimes  late  in  the  night  you 
have  sung  these  national  airs  by  yourself  in 
your  chamber  ?" 

Lodoiska  blushed  sweetly. 

"Yes,"  continued  Alisette,  taking  Lodoiska's 


hand  with  a  beseeching  motion,  "  the  night 
and  open  window  often  betray  the  sweetest 
secrets.  That  little  song,  for  example," 
humming  the  beginning  of  the  melody, — "  I 
should  love  to  hear  you  sing,  I  have  already 
heard  two  successive  nights." 

Lodoiska  blushed  without  suspecting  it. 
Frances  had  placed  her  in  an  awkward  po- 
sition, as  the  words  of  the  little  song  must 
seem,  to  those  who  understood  the  Polish 
idiom,  really  to  betray  some  heart-secrets. 

"  The  song,"  she  said  at  last,  "  is  a  memo- 
rial of  early  childhood,  having  often  heard  it 
sung  by  my  mother ;  it  is  by  pure  accident 
that  I  have  sung  it  two  successive  evenings, 
as  the  nightingale  opposite  kept  me  awaKe." 

"  Oh,  then  siag  it  the  third  evening  also," 
answered  Frances,  "pray,  pray,  dol"  and 
she  coaxed  so  prettily  that  Lodoiska  must 
indeed  have  had  some  very  weighty  objec- 
tion if  she  had  returned  a  negative  answer. 
She  would  have  been  glad  to  give  such  an 
answer,  but  she  felt  that  it  would  be  better 
to  appear  willing  to  sing  it,  than  by  her  refu- 
sal to  lend  the  words  of  the  song  a  real  im- 
Jort,  especially  as  she  must  suppose  that 
aromir  and  the  Countess  in  all  probability 
already  were  aware  what  song  it  was  by  the 
nctelody  which  Frances  had  hummed.  She 
yielded  tlierefore  to  her  entreaties,  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  to  the  piano,,  sat  down  to  the 
instrument  and  began : —  ..    '^ 


All  aloue  J  love  to  wander, 

Seeking  out  the  stillest  glade ; 
From  the  gay  I  keep  asunder. 
Courting  the  deep  forest-shade  ; 
By  the  wall  of  rocky  ledges, 
By  the  streamlet's  verdant  edges, 
I  sit  me  down  to  think :  Oh  when 
Wilt  thou  return  to  me  again  ! 


n. 


On  the  pinions  of  the  breezes 

Lovely  spring  comes  back  amsdn. 
Bringing  with  her  ail  that  pleases — 

Bringing  happiness  again.  ^ 

But  in  the  Ibrest's  dark  recess, 
To  mourn  alone 's  my  happiness ; 
To  sing  the  ditty — When,  Oh  when 
Wilt  thou  return  to  me  again  I 


IIL 


And  when  the  swallows'  young  forsjike 

Our  hospitable  quiet  roof, 
Oh,  that  I  could  with  them  betake 
Myself  to  flight  from  hence  aloof ! 
^       If  paleuess  on  my  lip  should  rest, 

Till  thee  I  should  have  found — caress'd, 
I'd  never  droop  my  wing  ;  but  when 
Wilt  thou  return  to  me  again  i 


M 


«■■ 


54 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ;  OR, 


tf. 


As  the  brook  its  ripple  poors, 
Ou  and  on  to  meet  the  sea. 
So  my  tears  would  fall  in  showera. 
Never  to  be  dried  away. 

How  much  longer  wilt  thou  tarry  ? 
Anguish  makes  my  heart  most  weary. 
My  head  in  death  must  sink.  Oh  when 
Wilt  thou  return  to  me  again  ? 

Lodoiska  possessed  a  sweet,  touching 
voice,  from  which  out  of  timorousness  she 
elicited  only  low  notes,  but  which  in  their 
pure  and  distinct  modulations  resembled  the 
trembling  sounds  of  the  a^iian  harp.  In 
combination  with  the  gentle  Uush  on  her 
noble  countenance,  and  the  words  seeming  to 
express  the  secret  throbbings  of  her  heart, 
her  song  produced  quite  a  peculiar  impres- 
sion. It  was  maidenly  delicacy  in  some 
measure  embodied  in  these  strains ;  not 
merely  a  specimen  of  art,  but  a  sweet  image 
of  nature  iierself,  created  by  her  in  son>e 
consecrated  moment,  and  endowed  with  all 
the  touching  graces  of  life.  It  is  easily 
to  be  accounted  for  why  it  was  that  Lodo- 
iska to-day  repeated  the  song  which  she 
yesterday  would  have  sung  with  so  much 
freedom,  with  evident  embarrassment.  For 
within  only  a  few  hours  the  seed  of  a  perti- 
nent import  of  the  words  applicable  to  the 
reality  of  her  own  slate  had  commenced  to 
spring  up  ;  this  as  yet  but  dimly-apprehended 
foreboding  produced  a  timidity  and  constraint 
which  otherwise  she  would  have  been  un- 
conscious of.  A  man  is  more  inclined  than 
a  maiden  to  look  for  omens  in  accidental 
incidents,  when  they  side  with  his  wishes  ; 
Jaromir  ventured  therefore  to  apply  these 
words  to  himself,  and  in  so  doing  his  heart 
beat  with  tumultuous  joy.  He  reflected,  that, 
as  mentioned  by  Frances,  she  had  sung  this 
song  in  the  solitary  and  silent  watchesof  the 
night.  Had  she  then  been  thinking  of  him  i 
Yes,  yes,  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  believed 
what  he  so  ardently  wished.  This  supposi- 
tion of  her  afiections  meeting  him  half  way, 
quickly  fanned  his  passion  into  a  flame  ;  he 
enjoyed  the  rare  happiness  of  not  doubting 
^ut  that  the  beloved  responded  to  his  passion, 
believing  that  he  already  saw  her  heart  un- 
veiled. Not  by  any  act  of  hers,  however,  for 
like  the  rose,  she  carried  her  feelings  con- 
cealed in  the  inmost  blossom,  but  the  hand 
of  an  over-ruling  Providence  unfolded  the 
tender  leaflets,  and  disclosed  the  jewel  they 
enfolded. 

He  was  not  led  to  this  conclusion  by  a 
thoughtless,  mean-spirited  vanity,  but  his 
strong  faith  in  a  lovng  heart,  the  buoyant 
hopes  of  youth,  which  in  its  happy  fancies 
so  easily  intermixes  ardent  wishes  and 
sweet  realization.    But  he  m  this  case,  did 


I  not  delude  himself  with  idle  fancies,  even  if 
perhaps  he  guessed  more  than  had  been  re- 
vealed— yea,  than  Lodoiska  was  capable  of 
revealing — her  heart  being  yet  hidden  to  her- 
self beneath  the  cloistered  veil. 

By  desire  of  the  Colonel,  to  whom  music 
was  more  of  a  diversicm  than  a  sentiment,  a 
duet  was  proposed ;  but  Lodoiska  gave  a 
gentle  but  decided  refusal.  Time  was  not 
allowed  the  Colonel,  who  was  far  from  being 
disposed  to  retreat  so  easily,  to  lay  a  scien- 
tiiic  siege,  for  the  Countess  summoned  hitn 
to  conduct  her  to  the  supper  table.  He  gal- 
lantly offered  her  his  arm  ;  Jaromir  offered 
his  to  Lodoiska ;  Louis  standing  near  one  of 
the  elder  ladies,  escorted  her,  and  Bernard 
took  Alisette  under  his  left  am,  and  the 
other  friend  of  the  Countess,  who  would 
otherwise  have  been  left  solitary,  under  his 
right.  "  I  place  you  at  the  side  where  my 
heart  beats,"  he  said  to  Alisette  half  aloud, 
who  answered  him  by  a  look  of  cheerful  con- 
fidence. The  folding  doors  of  the  splendidly 
illuminated  supper  room  were  thrown  opea 
and  the  party  entered  and  sat  dowo. 


n- 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  young  soldiers  did  not  retire  to  their 
rooms  till  towards  midnight.  These  rooms 
were  three,  all  openinjr  on  a  long  corridor, 
the  windows  towards  the  garden.  By  this 
arrangement  the  three  friends  could  be 
separate  or  together  at  pleasure.  Each  one 
had  his  own  apartment,  but  by  takiiig  only 
a  couple  of  steps  could  enter  that  of  hi» 
neighbor.  Jaromir  bid  the  other  two  a  good 
ni^t;  he  appeared  to  be  tired.  Bernard 
and  Louis  remained  yet  some  time  together, 
talking  over  the  singular  position  of  their 
circumstances.  This  was  indeed  the  first 
confidential  hour  which  they  had  spent  to- 
gether since  their  departure  from  Dresden ; 
for,  from  several  motives,  they  liad  been 
oWiged  to  perform  the  journey  so  rapidly, 
that  no  time  had  been  found  for  a  quiet  chat 
together,  which  besides,  the  presence  of  Ja- 
romir, yet  a  comparative  stranger,  had  pre- 
vented. 

'*  1  wonder,"  said  Bernard,  "  what  prize 
dame  Fortune  will  next  let  us  catch  in  her 
net.  I,  as  the  great  Count  Ljomond,  have  at 
least  opened  a  door.  Egad !  while  here  in 
Poland,  I  begin  to  repent  me  that  I  did  not 
saddle  myself  with  a  dukedom,  for  in  the  long 
string  of  the  genuine  pearls  of  Polish  mag- 
nates, a  spurious  one  from  Scotland  would 
soon  be  lost.  Well,  who  knows  what  may 
happen  I"  I       '  ' 


■w 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


"  I  envy  thee  thy  cheerful  spirits,"  an- 
8t*ered  Louis,  "  but  try  how  I  may  to  look 
mi  my  fate  in  a  favorable  light,  I  cannot  suc- 
M*ed.  I  believe  that  I  must  meet  it  earnestly 
V /id  resolutely;  but  there  it  stands  before 
'<iie,  like  a  dismal  barren  rock,  on  which  I 
•  fAnnot  perceive  as  much  available  soil  as 
tould  servo  to  rear  a  single  poor  shrub, 
nuch  less  a  flower!" 

"  A  hand  will  appear,"  answered  Bernard, 
•  which  striking  the  rock,  as  Moses  did  of 
»]d,  will  cause  a  rich  and  refreshing  fountain 
tO  burst  forth.  There  are  hours  in  which 
an  invisible  tripod  of  the  Pythian  prophetess 
is  placed  under  me,  and  when  the  Delphic 
oracle  speaks  through  my  lips.  I  think  that 
I  am  at  this  very  moment  comfortably  seated 
on  the  inspiring  stool,  and  the  entire  stock  of 
a  magic-lantern  is  passing  before  me,  por- 
trayii)g  foreshadowiogs  of  our  coming  i'or- 
tunes  with  the  most  delicious  coideur  de  rose. 
1  cannot  for  my  life  see  \Yhy  we  should  not 
earn  our  epaulettes  in  the  very  first  engage- 
ment, in  the  second,  vault  into  the  captain's 
saddle,  and  in  the  third  carry  off  the  major's 
cordon.  If  the  Russian  Emperor  has  no 
more  than  even  two  or  three  brave  generals,  I 
do  not  know  why  the  war  should  not  continue 
at  least  for  seven  years,  and  that  gives  time 
to  mature  a  marshal's  baton  with  a  ducal 
crown  on  the  top  of  it,  which  will  be  very 
nice  to  exchange  for  my  Scottish  patent  of  no- 
bility. And  tell  me,  would  not  Prince  of 
Petersburg,  or  Duke  of  Archangel,  or  even 
in  case  I  should  command  the  right  wing  of 
the  army,  Prince  of  Astrachan,  sound  just  as 
well  as  Prince  of  Pontecorvo,  or  of  Mbitfera, 
or  of  Dalmatia  ?  I  think  it  would  look  pass- 
WCh  ,  ing  well  if  I  should  assume  the  title  of  even 
^^4?!  Duke  of  Kamtschatka,  or  Prince  of  the  Lena, 
<  and  adopt  a  mammoth's  bone  as  my  armorial 

^         ensign." 

"Thou  makest  the  war  rather  protracted," 
said  Louis,  Smiling,  "  but  yet  I  say  the  dis- 
position is  to  be  envied  that  on  so  black  a 
horizon  can  discern  such  gay  imagery." 
■■  y  "  That  is  the  talent  of  the  painter,"  cried 

Bernard, "  and  I  have  exercised  it  consider- 
.  ably.  If  I  place  myself  before  a  very  black 
and  threatening  thunder-cloud,  I  see  in  the 
piled  up  masses,  in  their  bold  arches  and 
sulphurous  edges,  the  most  magnificent 
serial  palaces  and  mountains.  But  thou 
seeraest  tired  ;  let  us  ascertain  then  if  the 
couches  of  this  Juno  who  has  taken  us  in 
matches  her  otherwise  truly  Olympian  re- 
^    •    ception." 

Louis  shook  Bernard  by  ihs  hand,  wished 

,      «   him  a  good  night,   and  pasfsed  to  his  room. 

Bernfird  felt  the  stimulus  of  the  noble  tokay, 

of   which  he  had   not  sparingly  partaken, 

.i^  coursing  too  fiery  through  his  veins  to  resign 

■>     *  himself  to  indolent  slumber.    He  went  to 


K 


the  window,  opened  it,  and  looked  into  the 
garden.  A  cooling  night-breeze  wafted 
through  the  tree-tops  and  _  lightly  waued  the 
bushes  to  and  fro  ;  the  moon  vv^as  low',  near 
the  horizon,  and  consequently  threw  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  building  far  away  over  the 
green-sward  ;  but  in  places  where  nothing 
intercepted  her  beams,  she  illumined  the 
paths  and  grass-plats  with  almost  the  clear 
light  of  day.  Bernard  remembered  that 
Alisette  had  said  to  him  at  table,  "  Here  we 
sit  directly  opposite  to  my  windows,  into 
which  the  moon  shines  all  night  with  her 
friendly  beams."  He  took  it  into  his  head 
to  make  the  experiment  to  steal  down  into 
the  dining-saloon,  which  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  palace,  from  thence  to  watch  the 
windows  of  the  charming  girl  a  little  while. 
Resolve  and  execution  were  generally  simul- 
taneous with  him  ;  he  threw  his  dressing- 
gown  around  him,  therefore,  and  silently  left 
his  room.  Only  a  single  half-expiring  lamp 
flickered  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  He 
listened  intently,  to  ascertain  that  all  was 
still.  Not  a  sound  was  audible  throughout 
the  whole  building.  With  nimble  feet  he 
approached  the  lamp  which  was  suspended 
in  the  centre  groin  above  the  great  stair-case, 
and  in  this  manner  threw  its  light  into  each 
of  the  wings.  Without  meeting  any  person, 
he  went  along  the  entire  main-front  till  he 
reached  the  other  wing  ;  at  the  angle  of  the 
corridor  was  another  half-extinguished  lamp  ; 
yet  it  gave  light  sufficient  to  enable  one  to 
distinguish  the  several  doors  which  led  from 
the  passage  into  the  apartments.  The  third 
door  was  that  of  the  dining-room  ;  this  had 
been  observed  by  Bernard,  who  possessed 
considerable  acumen  and  a  good  memory. 
He  gently  tried-  the  door  whether  it  was 
locked  or  not ;  it  was  unlocked  ;  he  went  in, 
and  now  stood  all  alone  in  the  large  obscure 
hall,  where  the  close-drawn  white  curtains 
looked  like  so  many  pale  spectres.  Though 
he  stepped  very  softly,  his  motions  caused  a 
kind  of  ghost-like  whispering  sound  through 
the  vast  space.  Cautiously  he  approached 
a  window,  parted  the  curtains  a  little,  and 
looked  out  over  the  way.  Directly  opposite, 
across  the  rather  narrov/  street,  the  other 
jside  of  which  was  lighted  by  the  moon, 
was  a  small  house,  in  which  the  windows  of 
the  second  story  were  closed  by  green  blinds. 
The  shadow  of  the  palace  extended  so  far 
that  the  lower  part  of  the  house  was  fully 
obscured  by  it.  Though  nothing  could  have 
been  distinguished  in  the  basement  or  at  the 
door  of  the  dwelling,  the  objects  on  which 
the  bright  moonlight  rested  were  so  much 
the  more  discernible.  According  to  descrip- 
tion, this  was  Alisette's  dwelling,  and  her 
windows  were  in  the  second  story.  Ber- 
nard's keen  eye  discovered  a  light  shining 


*:-■« 


-.1^. 


56 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


through  the  blinds,  and  a  moving  shadow  as- 
sured him  that  some  one  there  had  not  yet 
gone  tarest. 

All  fft  once  he  heard  the  noise  of  a  key 
cautiously  turned  in  the  lock ;  the  front 
door  opposite  was  opened,  and  a  tall  figure, 
wrapped  in  a  cloak,  slipped  quickly  out  into 
the  street,  and  immediately  vanished  in  the 
shadows  of  the  palace.  The  -figure  crossed 
the  street  and  crept  along  under  the  windows 
of  the  saloon,  so  that  Bernard  could  not  fol- 
low it  with  his  eyes,  nor  discover  the  direc- 
tion it  took. 

Bernard  was  much  astonished  at  what  he 
saw,  when,  connected  with  other  observa- 
tions and  remarks,  the  idea  was  forced  upon 
him  that  the  unknown  figure  was  none  other 
than  the  Colonel,  who  had  just  paid  a  noc- 
turnal visit  to  the  girl.  He  now  fixed  his 
eagle-glance  on  Alisette's  window,  to  watch 
whether  she  would  yet  show  herself,  and 
thus  corroborate  his  suspicions.  But  every- 
thing remained  quiet.  A  feeble  light  yet 
shone  through  the  blinds — now  ond  then  ob- 
scured by  a  passing  shadow,  but  nothing 
more  could  be  seen. 

Bernard  persevered  for  about  half  an  hour 
i  I  his  strict  espionage  at  the  window.  But 
1  s  positively  nothing  more  was  to  be  gained, 
.'  .e  resolved  to  return  to  his  room.  He  turn- 
3d  round  to  go  to  the  door,  but  remained 
stationary — transfixed  by  amazement — for 
the  door  opened,  and  a  spectral  figure,  en- 
veloped in  a  large  white  veil,  made  more  dis- 
tinctively apparent  by  the  moonlight,  which 
fell  through  a  window  in  the  corridor,  glided 
into  the  saloon.  Bernard  shrank  back, 
alarmed.  However  extraordinary  the  appa- 
rition might  be,  it  was  not  the  fear  of  ghosts 
which  fell  upon  him,  but  rather  an  apprehen- 
sion of  being  caught  in  his  singular  night- 
wandering.  Holding  his  breath,  he  leaned 
against  a  column,  glad  at  not  having  the 
white  transparent  window-curtains  as  a 
back-ground.  The  door  closed  behind  the 
entering  figure,  which,  with  inaudible  steps, 
pursued  its  way  the  whole  length  of  the  hall. 
In  the  deep  obscurity,  it  appeared  to  the  ob- 
server's eye  as  a  passing  pillar  of  vapor,  los- 
ing itself  more  and  more  in  the  distance. 

However  keenly  Bernard  followed  the 
vision  with  his  eyes,  yet  he  could  not  dis- 
cover which  way  it  took.  It  was  lost  entire- 
ly at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall.  No  door  was 
heard  to  open  or  shut ;  but  no  one  came  back, 
and  not  the  slightest  noise  was  to  be  heard. 
He  was  at  first  uncertain  whether  the  figure 
did  not  linger  in  the  saloon.  Not  unnecessa- 
rily to  betray  himself,  therefore,  he  remained 
a  good  while  immoveable.  He  then  cau- 
tiously approached  the  door — gained  the  cor- 
ridor, and  though  the  lamps  were  all  extin- 


guished, be  reached  his  chamber  without 
further  adventure. 

,  /He  was  surprised,  on  passing  Jaromir'a 
door  to  find  that  he  was  yet  awake.  He 
heard  him  pacing  the  floor  up  and  down. 
With  redoubled  caution  he  passed  by,  to  es- 
cape betraying  himself  at  the  last  moment. 
Unperceived,  he  safely  reached  his  chamber. 
He  threw  himself  upon  his  bed  ;  but  a  long 
time  elapsed,  before  the  multitude  of  con- 
jectures awakened  in  his  mind  by  these  ex- 
traordinary occurrences  suffered  him  to  drop 
into  a  sleep.  ^ 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Jaromir  was  the  first  one  awake.  He 
sprang  from  his  couch  and  called  his  friends ; 
for  the  sober  hour  of  active  duty  had  ar- 
rived. 

Bernard  and  L8uis  were  quickly  in  their 
regimentals.  They  prepared  to  sally  forth. 
Everything  in  the  house  was  yet  perfectly 
still.  The  streets  even  were  yet  silent. 
Their  way  led  them  through  the  by-street  in 
which  Alisette  lived.  Bernard,  remembering 
last  night's  adventure,  looked  sharply  round. 
The  window-blinds  were  still  closed.  Jaro- 
mir, on  the  other  hand,  looked  tip  at  the  win- 
dows of  the  palace,  which  were  screened  by 
white  curtains. 

"  What  does  your  eye  seek  up  there  ?" 
asked  Bfrnard,  with  some  misgiving.  "  Turn 
them  this  way,  for  in  one  of  these  houses 
lives  the  pretty  Frances  Alisette,  as  she  told 
me  herself,  yesterday." 

"  And  there  lives — "  cried  Jaromir  eager- 
1'',  but  stopped  suddenly  short,  for  one  of  the 
window-curtains,  at  which  he  was  just  then 
looking,  began  to  roll  up — the  window  open- 
ed, and  Lodoiska  leaned  out  of  it. 

She  blushed  scarlet  on  seeing  the  three 
young  men.  Jaromir's  face  became  suffused 
with  a  sudden  glow,  and  he  was  thrown  into 
such  perplexity,  that  he  came  very  near 
omitting  his  morning  salute  ;  while  Bernard 
and  Louis  had  already  offered  theirs. 

"  What,  Countess !"  said  Bernard,  with 
great  freedom.  "  Are  you  not  afraid  of  the 
morning  air.  Those  who  know  say  it  is  in- 
jurious to  beauty  !" 

"  I  am  almost  always  in  the  garden  as 
early  as  this,"  said  Lodoiska,  a  little  con- 
strained. 

"  Then,  those  who  know  must  be  great 
errorists,"  interposed  .Bernard,  with  ready 
gallantry. 

Lodoiska  modestly  lowered  her  eyes  and 
smiled,  but  did  not  reply. 


w 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


t> 


57 


The  friends  made  another  bow  towards  the 
window,  receiving  a  friendly  acknowledg- 
ment in  return.  Lodoiska  disappeared,  and 
they  went  on  their  way. 

One  look  into  Jaromir's  bright  eye  reveal- 
ed to  so  practised  an  observer  of  human  fea- 
tures as  Bernard  the  whole  state  of  his 
heart.  That  he  loved,  and  was  loved  in  re- 
ctum, was  plainly  to  be  seen.  From  the  po- 
sition of  the  rooms,  Bernard  at  the  same 
time  conjectured  that  the  ghost  which  he 
had  seen  in  the  diiiing-hall  was  none  other 
than  Lodoiska. 

"  AheiH  !"  said  Bernard,  giving  Jaromir  a 
roguish  but  searching  look :  "  the  young 
Coantess  seems  to  be  the  last  one  to  bed,  and 
the  first  out  of  .it.  If  not  very  much  deceiv- 
ed, I  saw  her  last  night  in  the  shape  of  a 
ghost !" 

"  What  didst  see  ?"  asked  Jaromir,  quick- 
ly ;  "  what  was  it,  I  pray  thee  ?" 

"  How !  art  thou  afraid  of  ghosts  ?"  asked 
Bernard,  a  little  maliciously. 

"  Oh,  leave  joking,"  interrupted  Jaromir, 
half-vexed,  and  half  beseechingly.  "  Tell 
me  what  thou  didst  see ;  it  concerns  me  a 
good  deal." 

"  Long  after  mtdnight,"  said  Bernard,  in 
an  imposing  tone,  "  I  saw  the  chamber-door 
of  a  certain  young  officer  standing  open, 
and  he  himself  awaJce,  though  so  veiy  tired 
after  his  journey  !" 

"  Hast  thou  been  listening,  Bernard  ?  I 
pray  thee  tell  me  !"  Cried  Jaromir  again. 

"  Ah !  what  will  not  an  evil  conscience 
do  !"  was  the  merry  answer.  "  Listened  ? 
No !  But  I  saw  ghosts — ladies  clad  in  white, 
veiled  and  mystical  figures." 

"I  am  becoming  quiie  curious,"  said 
liOuis.     "  Ghosts,  adventures  ?  let  us  hear." 

"  Dear  friends  !"  cried  Jaromir,  without 
waiting  for  Bernard's  answer,  but  seizing  the 
hands  of  both,  "  I  will  be  frank  with  you ; 
for  I  see  I  am  already  half  betrayed.  But 
swear  to  keep  it  to  yourselves,  if  you  value 
my  happiness." 

"  Very  willingly,"  answered  Louis,  giving 
him  his  hand. 

"  By  Styx  !"  said  Bernard,  doing  the  same. 
"  Though  I  think  it  hardly  necessary,  as  I 
know,  or  guess  at  the  whole.     But  go  on  !" 

Jaromir  began : 

"  Lodoiska  was  the  play-mate  of  my  youth  ; 
she  is  my  nearest  relative.  We  had  passed 
indescribably  happy  days  together  on  her 
father's  estate,  near  Narew.  Shall  I  con- 
fess to  you,  that  while  yet  a  mere  boy,  I  lov- 
ed the  sweet  girl  ?  She  was  thirteen,  and  I 
seventeen.  But  she  bloomed  like  the  most 
lovely  rose-bud,  and  was  already  then  so 
good — so  intelligent !  oh,  a  thousand  times 
more  so  than  myself  I  About  that  time  I 
was  compelled  to  part  from  her.    I  entered 


the  army  :  that  is  now  six  years  ago.  I  have, 
since  then,  roved  through  half  the  world, 
and  lived  only  amid  the  wild  tumult  and  bus- 
tle of  war.  But  do  you  believe  it,  dear 
friends,  that  the  image  of  that  tender  child  has 
accompanied  me  everywhere  ;  and  that  none 
of  all  the  Spanish  beauties  and  pretty  French 
women  whom  I  have  met  with  has  made  any 
impression  on  ray  heart  derogatory  to  her 
worth ! 

"  But,  during  years  of  military  campaign- 
ing much  of  our  earlier  feelings  evaporates  ! 
When  I  thought  of  home,  it  is  true,  Lodois- 
ka stood  before  me  ;  but  the  thought  recur- 
red more  rarely,  and  in  the  incessant  change 
and  crowd  of  objects,  I  gradually  lost  all 
feelings  of  home.  He  who  is  at  home  no- 
where,  soon  gets  to  feel  at  home  any  and 
everywhere!  It  was  not  till  again  seeing 
the  towers  of  Warsaw  that  the  old  longing 
vl^as  awaked  within  me,  and  Lodoiika's  im- 
age again  floated  mild  and  lovely  before  my 
vision.  But  I  could  think  of  her  only  as  the 
child  of  by-gone  days  I  I  said  a  thousand 
times  to  myself  that  she  must  now  be  a 
grown-up  maiden ;  but  my  heart  refused  to 
acknowledge  her  as  such." 

"  And  I  think  yonr  heart  was  right,"  in- 
terrupted Bernard  ;  "  for  her  soul  is  still  that 
of  a  child's,  and  shines  forth  through  her 
outward  beauty  as  through  a  thin  gauze.  A 
more  guileless  heart  never  dwelt  in  woman's 
breast.  I  understand  it — for  I  have  sketched 
many  an  angel ,  but,  alas  !  many  a  Jezebel, 
too." 

"  Thou  speakest  exactly  as  if  taking  the 
words  out  of  my  mouth,"  cried  Jaromir,  with 
joyful  animation,  not  hearing  or  noticing  the 
appendix  Bernard  tacked  to  his  pleasing  de- 
lineation. "  This  was  the  cause  of  our  be- 
coming intimate  as  we  had  been  on  the  day 
we  parted.  When  we  separated  for  the 
night,  therefore,  I  felt  quite  crest-fallen. 
Disquieting  thoughts  racked  my  mind  :  I  did 
not  know  what  I  wanted.  The  moon  shone 
brightly ;  the  night-air  was  so  mild  and 
balmy.  As  I  lay  leaning  out  of  my  window, 
I  saw  a  figure  in  white,  moving  through  the 
dark  copse,  in  the  garden.  Oh !  if  that  were 
she,  I  thought,  and  I  could  yet  say  a  few 
words  to  her  !  I  hastened  down,  and  bought 
through  all  the  shady  walks,  but  in  vain. 
But  suddenly  I  heard  in  the  distance,  but 
very  low,  those  little  couplets  which  she  sang 
for  us  in  the  evening.  I  followed  the  sound, 
and  discovered  the  lovely  creature  in  a  bow- 
er by  the  artificial  fountain.  At  first,  I  in- 
tended only  to  listen  :  but  I  soon  got  vexed 
with  myself, — went  nearer — stepped  sudden^ 
ly  before  her,  and  spoke  to  her." 

"  Thou  art  indeed  a  bold  man,  my  friend," 
again  interrupted  Bernard ;  but  in  gentle 
tones  of  sympathizing    concern.      "  Thou 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


mightest  have  trifled  away  a  great  deal  iu 
•  that  way." 

"  I  know  it,  indeed ;  but  yesterday  I  could 
not  help  it ;  I  could  not  have  done  other- 
wise !"  answered  Jarorair,  looking  superla- 
tively honest  and  self-complacent. 

"  Thou  art  absolved  ;  but  go  on  confess- 
ing," said  Bernard  with  consummate  gravity. 
"  I  believe  I  should  have  done  the  very  same 
thing.    But  the  Countess,  what  did  she  do  ?" 

"  She  was  terrified,  angry,  scolded,  entreat- 
ed—" • 

"  I  know  all  that,"  interrupted  Bernard, 
"If  one  is  not  already  sold  to  the  evil  one, 
when  in  love,  then  it  is  done  afterwards. 
But,  proceed !" 

"  She  gave  me  her  hand,  and  was  so  good 
and  kind — and — ■" 

Jaromir's  young  heart  overflowed;  his 
transport  beamed  forth  from  his  eyes.  Speak 
he  could  not — but  he  fell  on  the  neck  of  Ber- 
nard and  Louis. 

"  Louis,"  he  cried,  "  she  consents  to  be 
mine.  Sweetly  reluctant  she  gave  me  the 
blessed  promise  ;  but  with  trembling  haste 
drove  me  ofi"  immediately.  Perhaps  at  this 
moment  she  is  unlocking  her  pure  heart  in 
prayer.  Oh !  my  friends,  can  one  ever  be 
happier  ?" 

Jaromir,  who  had  completely  surrendered 
himself  to  the  tumult  of  love,  did  not  notice 
that  Louis  was  grave  and  deeply  affected  ; 
yea,  that  portentous  folds  gathered  even  on 
Bernard's  brow.  The  former  was  thinking 
of  Bianca.  He  contrasted  the  shadowy  form 
of  his  mournful  fancy  with  the  real,  living 
one  which  came  decked  with  flowers  to  the 
meeting  of  the  youth  at  his  side. 

"^I  wish  you  joy,"  said  Bernard,  shaking 
Jaromir  by  the  hand.  "  You  may  be  blessed, 
or  at  lest  happy  and  contented.  Soft  arms 
are  easy  fetters  ;  but  still  they  are  fetters.  A 
cage  is  a  cage,  be  it  even  as  narrow  as  that 
in  which  John  of  Leyden  was  hung  at  the 
tower  at  Munster,  or  as  dark  as  the  Black 
Hole  of  Calcutta  i  or,  to  put  both  together, 
as  the  hole  into  which  we  must  all  creep 
at  last.  I  understand  now  about  that  spec- 
tral vision,  which  I  found  rambling  about  in 
the  ancestral  hall." 

Jaromir  pricked  up  his  ears.  Bernard 
then  related  his  adventure  in  the  saloon  ;  but 
represented  himself  only  as  a  whimsical  fel- 
low, who  loved  to  stump  about  at  night  in 
strange  building?,  but  made  no  mention  either 
of  the  motive  which  had  actuated  him,  or  of 
the  suspicions  he  had  conceived  of  Alisette's 
conduct. 

With  this  conversation  the  three  friends 
had  arrived  at  the  end  of  their  walk  ;  name- 

^the  parade  ground,  where  Bernard  and 
uis  were  to  commence  their  lesgtTns  in  the 
details  of  the  service.    They  found  already 


on  the  ground  several  troopers  and  non-com- 
missioned  officers  belonging  to  two  defective 
squadrons  of  Polish  lancers,  which  were  to 
constitute  the  nucleus  of  the  new  regiment. 
The  preliminary  duty  assigned  to  Jaromir 
was  to  form  a  compact  whole  out  of  these  frag- 
ments. For  the  present  he  consigned  his 
friends  to  the  modelling  hands  of  an  old  grey- 
beard, who  was  to  instruct  them  in  the  first  ru- 
diments of  manual  service. 

John  Petrowski,  a  sergeant,  who  had 
fought  under  Kosciusko,  became  their  drill- 
master.  He  entered  upon  his  duty  with  a 
kind  of  awe,  which  did  not  spring,  however, 
from  respect  to  the  exalted  rank  of  his  re- 
cruits, but  from  sheer  professional  venera- 
tion for  the  object  itself.  For  here  was  the 
question  of  moulding  two  warriors  who  were 
to  fight  for  the  dear  father-land ;  for  that 
beloved,  sacred,  father-land,  to  which  John 
Petrowski  in  his  vigorous  manhood,  when 
his  old  chieftain,  Kosciusko  called  the  sons 
of  Poland  to  arms,  so  joyfully  dedicated  his 
life.  He  was  now  on  the  confines  of  old 
age — for  the  next  spring  he  would  have  to 
count  himself  among  sexagenarians.  But 
still  he  oflfered  his  grey  head,  scarred  by 
many  a  sabre-cut,  joyfully  to  the  service  of 
his  country ;  and  the  old,  sacred  flame  of 
patriotism  and  a  heroic  spirit  glowed  yet  • 
within  his  aged  breast,  as  wine  becomes  rich- 
er and  stronger  through  age.  Two  piercing 
eyes  flashed  from  beneath  the  half-bald  fore- 
head around  which  circled  some  grey  locks. 
The  prominent  aquiline  nose  arched  towards 
the  severe  and  compressed  lips  which  were  " 
nearly  concealed  by  high  grey  moustaches  ,  -• 
on  which  John  Petrowski  prided  himself  not  * 
a  little.  J 

His  countenance  seemed  to  say  :  Look  at  .  ■*'' 
me  :  as  mouldered  and  weather-beaten  an  oak 
as  I  seem,  and  though  leturning  spring  lenda 
me  no  ornament  to  soften  my  rough  bark,  still 
I  may,  perhaps,  brave  the  storm  and  the  tem- 
pest with  greater  strength  and  success  than 
yourselves.  I  have  struck  my  roots  deep 
into  the  stony  soil,  and  he  that  pulls  me  down  ,|( 
must  tear  away  one-half  of  the  hill  along 
with  me.  He  gave  the  word  of  command  : 
"  Shoulder  arms  !  carry  arms  !  ground 
arms !  right  about  face  !  march  I  halt !" 
with  the  solemn  gravity  of  a  priest  reading 
mass.  His  disciples  obeyed  him  with  equal 
zeal  and  attention.  They  accordingly  made 
rapid  progress,  and  pupils  and  instructor 
were  delighted  with  each  other.  Thus  the 
whole  day  was  spent  by  the  three  friends  in 
discharging  professional  duties :  and  thus 
they  had  no  leisure  to  see  the  lovely  inmates  » 
of  their  dwelling  till  the  evening. 

Unalloyed  happiness  beamed  from  Lodo- 
iska's  eyes;  the  Countess  welcomed  Jaromir 
so  graciously  that  he  entertained  no  doubt 


.it 


.IPipUJI 


|i,,, jmmmvr^'^m-i)  j..''iisif'w -it-mf'twwsmfi^mgr^mmifm 


^•f>m 


AWWil  IM 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


of  her  favorable  disposition  to  promote  his 
wishes.  Bernard  and  Louis  were  aware 
that  a  few  undisturbed  moments  must  be  of 
inestimable  value  to  Jaromir ;  they  accord- 
ingly paved  the  way  for  him  by  retiring  to 
their  rooms  before  he  could  ask  it  of  them. 
Just  before  the  supper-hour,  Jaromir  came 
himself  to  call  them,  and  told  them,  full  of 
joy:— 

"  The  Countess  too  favors  my  suit,  and  is 
so  motherly  and  kind  ;  but  she  is  severe  too, 
for  she  has  commanded  me  to  restrain  my 
desires  until  the  arrival  of  Rasinski,  as  she 
wishes  to  leave  the  decision  of  the  matter  in 
his  hands.  Not  a  word,  therefore,  not  a  look, 
my  dear  friends,  which  can  betray  our  love  ; 
I  have  promised  Lodoiska  to  be  tractable  and 
obedient,  and  I  will  fulfil  my  promise  like  a 
man." 

"  Bravely  !  nobly !"  cried  Bernard,  short 
and  gruff  as  was  his  custom  ;  "  we  will  fol- 
low thy  example.  And  if  thou  remainest 
firm,  I  will  reward  thee  by  painting  a  portrait 
of  thy  bride,  or  at  least  take  a  sketch  of  her, 
should  there  be  time  for  no  more." 


♦  /  CHAPTER  XXL        '.^ 

Several  days  passed  thus  uniformly  one 
after  the  other.  Alisette  and  Regnard  were 
almost  the  only  guests  added  to  the  family- 
circle  of  which  Louis  and  Bernard  were  now 
-    accustomed  to  count  themselves   members. 

,  *    Regnard  regularly  brought  news  of  the  events 

'  of  the  war,  marching  of  troops  and  similar 
. ,  matters,  and  generally  introduced  the  world 
with  its  affairs  into  the  quiet  household, 
otherwise  partially  estranged  from  things  be- 
yond their  own  sphere.  However  strenuously 
Jaromir  endeavored  to  control  himself,  his 
keen  observation  soon  revealed  to  the  Colonel 
his  attachment  to  Lodoiska,  and  that  it  was 

*  .  reciprocated.  His  jealousy  with  respect  to 
,  Alisette  was  therefore  dissipated,  and  nothing 
now  marred  their  social  enjoyment.  Alisette 
had  been  absent  for  two  days,  being  busily 
engaged  in  the  rehearsal  of  an  opera,  which 
was  to  be  performed  on  the  following  night. 
The  Colonel,  who  attended  one  of  these  re- 
hearsals, related  a  number  of  good  tilings 
about  it,  but  had  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
"   piece. 

1^  "I  much  regretted,"  he  said, "  that  I  could 
not  stay  to  witness  the  conclusion,  but  I  was 
disturbed  by  an  unpleasant  occurrence.  My 
adjutant  came  and  informed  me  that  intelli- 
gence had  been  received  that  a  Russian 
General,  who  has  been  in  France  on  weighty 
diplomatic  business,  and  had  been  obliged  to  1 


flee  that  country,  is  now  concealed  in  this 
city,  and  intends  to  escape  this  very  night. 
As  my  regiment  happens  to  be  on  guard  at 
the  gates,  I  must  go  to  post  double  sentries 
at  every  point." 

"  And  who  may  the  fugitive  be  ?"  asked 
the  Countess,  with  much  apparent  interest. 

"  That  we  do  not  know,"  answered  Reg- 
nard ;  "  some  say  it  is  General  Cz****,  who 
certainly  has  been  in  Paris,  has  been  engaged 
in  a  number  of  intrigues  and  suspicious  con- 
nections, and  by  order  of  Napoleon  was  to 
have  been  arrested.  But  he  received  timely 
warning,  and  was  already  beyond  Strasburg 
before  the  telegraph  could  convey  the  order 
for  his  apprehension.  It  is  almost  impossible 
thai  he  can  have  lingered  so  long  in  the 
enemy's  territories.  Others  pretend  to  know 
that  it  is  Count  Winzingerode,  a  German  in 
the  Russian  service  ;  there  is  something  in 
that.  But  there  is  still  another  name  men- 
tioned, and  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  no 
one  knows  anything  for  certain.  Mons.  de 
Pradt  has  received  very  indefinite  advices." 

The  Colonel  was  yet  speaking  when  an 
orderly  entered  unannounced,  and  handed 
Jaromir  a  sealed  package. 

"  On  the  very  same  business,"  he  exclaim- 
ed, after  having  read  the  contents ;  "  I  am 
commanded  to  post  sentinels  throughout  that 
quarter  of  the  city  where  our  stables  ire 
situated — particularly  every  passage  leading 
to  the  Vistula," 

"  Yes,  yes,  they  seem  to  push  the  matter 
in  earnest,"  remarked  the  Colonel ;  "  I  shall 
be  cheated  out  of  Alisette's  lovely  song,  and 
you  out  of  your  supper !  Such  is  a  soldier's 
luck." 

"  That  is,  however,  easily  endured,"  an- 
swered Jaromir,  with  a  smile ;  "  all  that 
vexes  me  is,  that  I  shall  have  to  deprive  our 
friends  here  of  their  evening's  enjoyment, 
and  perhaps  their  night's  rest  too  ;  for  I  atu 
short  of  suitable  smart  fellows,  and  as  the 
service  during  the  day  is  fatiguing,  I  must 
calculate  on  having  three  relieves.  So,  I 
cannot  help  it,  my  friends ;  you  must  under- 
take your  first  duty  by  mounting  gnard  to- 
night !" 

"  A  polite  way  of  giving  orders !"  said 
Bernard,  gaily.  "  Well,  in  God's  name  !  If 
the  game  should  double  anywhere  near  me, 
it  shall  not  escape  without  having  a  shot,  I'll 
warrant  you." 

It  was  necessary  to  be  expeditious ;  they 
took  their  leave  of  the  ladies,  therefore, 
buckled  on  their  swords,  threw  their  cloaks 
around  them,  and  started. 

Jaromir  caused  the  call  to  be  sounded,  told 
off  the  sentries,  designated  the  posts,  gave 
the  men  their  instructions,  and  the  v/ord  to 
march  off. 

Bernard's  post  was  the  most  distant  in  the 


*# 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  •  OR, 


quarter.  The  way  to  it  led  through  a  lane 
between  two  high  walls,  one  of  which  was 
the  enclosure  of  a  convent ;  it  was  crossed 
by  another  lane  running  down  to  the  Vistula. 
The  next  sentry  was  placed  about  two  hun- 
dred paces  from  the  intersecting  point,  but 
none  farther  down,  as  there  was  no  other 
access  to  the  river.  Jaromir  posted  his  sen- 
tinels himself. 

"  Thou  art  some  distance  away  here,"  he 
said,  as  Bernard,  drawing  his  sabre,  assumed 
the  attitude  of  a  sentry  on  his  post^j  "  I 
would  double  my  sentries  if  I  had  more  men. 
But  it  is  just  for  that  reason  why  I  put  you 
on  this  post,  as  it  requires  one  that  will  keep 
a  sharp  lookout,  and  it  is  best  too,  as  thou 
speakest  French,  and  there  are  so  many 
Frenchmen  about  here,  whom  a  Polander 
could  not  understand  or  be  understood  by. 
Farewell.  In  two  hours  thou  wilt  be  re- 
lieved by  Louis." 

"  You  may  let  me  stand  here  all  night,  for 
all  I  care,"  answered  Bernard  ;  "  the  night 
is  so  mild  and  warm,  that  I  am  glad  to  think 
that  we  are  going  to  have  some  rain.  And 
as  to  my  being  lonesome,  never  mind  that ; 
I  know  very  well  how  to  beguile  the  time, 
and  do  not  need  anybody  to  keep  me 
awake." 

*'  If  anything  should  happen,  fire  off  thy 
pistol ;  in  such  a  case  thou  wilt  have,  imme- 
diate aid  from  the  nearest  sentry," 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy  about  me.  A  good 
sentry  needs  no  one  to  help  him  ;  I  will  be 
answerable  for  myself." 

Jaromir  went  away,  and  Bernard  was 
alone.  The  sky  became  overcast  with 
clouds  ;  it  was  near  midnight  and  very  dark, 
especially  after  the  setting  in  of  a  warm, 
drizzling  rain. 

The  gable-ends  and  turrets  of  the  old  con- 
vent opposite,  the  outlines  of  which  had  stood 
out  as  dark  shadows  against  the  sky,  were 
now  mingled  into  one  indeterminate  mass. 
Only  the  feeble  light  of  a  night-lamp  was 
visible  from  some  small  windows.  All  was 
as  still  as  the  grave.  The  languishing  call 
of  the  nightingale  and  the  gentle  murmurs 
of  the  passing  stream  were  the  only  sounds 
to  be  heard. 

"  It  is  lucky  that  I  have  a  pair  of  sharp 
eyes,"  muttered  Bernard  to  himself;  "for 
here  one  must  keep  them  wide  open  to  see 
anything  stealing  past.  It  will  be  well  to 
put  out  my  sword  as  a  feeler  now  and  then, 
and,  like  playing  at  blind-man's  buff,  to  throw 
out  my  arms  a  little  around  me.  Ah  !  there 
is  some  light ;  they  are  hanging  out  a  lantern 
up  there  in  the  convent.  That  will  do  me 
good  service." 

There  was  indeed  a  light  visible  in  one  of 
the  upper  windows,  as  if  some  one  was  light- 
ing another  out.    The  light  moved  briskly  i 


to  and  fro  a  few  turns,  and  then  disapp(>ar> 
ed. 

"  Now  it  is  dark  enough ;  it  cannot  be 
worse  in  the  deepest  pit  of  Bauman's  c£.ve; 
the  confounded  light  has  completely  blinded 
me.  One'  who  wanted  to  escape  here,  cculd 
not  contrive  a  better  way  than  to  take  a  dj».rk. 
lantern,  first  thrust  it  in  the  face  of  the  sen- 
try, then  throw  it  at  his  head,  and  run  for 
dear  life !  But  stop  !  what  was  that  ?  Was 
it  lightning  ?     Again  !" 

A  feeble,  flickering  light,  proceeding  from 
the  river-side,  penetrated  the  darkness.  The 
narrow  lane  did  not  admit  of  a  distinct  view 
from  whence  it  came ;  but  presently  Bernard 
plainly  saw  sparks  flying,  and  discovered  that 
some  person  on  the  river,  apparently  near  the 
shore,  was  striking  fire. 

His  quick  apprehension  immediately  con- 
nected this  discovery  with  the  appearance  of 
the  light  in  the  convent.  Were  these  mutual 
preconcerted  signals?  Suddenly  he  heard 
some  one  stepping  lightly  T  It  was,  then,  no 
delusion.  Intently  listening,  with  his  head 
bent  forward,  he  stood  holding  in  his  breath. 
Some  one  approached  quickly,  but  with 
caution  ;  he  could  distinguish  a  whispering 
and  muttering.  They  were  now  close  upon 
him.  Bernard  held  out  his  sword,  and  cried 
out,  in  Polish : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  » 

A  moment's  silence  ensued  ;  a  dark  figure 
then  approached  with  firm  step,  and  answer- 
ed in  a  deep,  manly  tone,  a  few  words  whicfi 
were  unintelligible  to  Bernard.  They  sound- 
ed, however,  like  some  pious  benediction. 

"  I  do  not  speak  Polish,"  he  said,  in  that 
very  language,  at  the  same  time  making  a 
motion  with  his  sabre,  intimating  that  he 
would  suflfer  no  one  to  pass. 

"  French,  then  ?"  replied  a  female  voice 
of  Uncommon  sweetness. 

"  Yes,  but  German  better,"  answered  Ber- 
nard, in  French. 

"  A  German  soldier!"  exclaimed  the  same 
voice,  inadvertently,  for  a  glad  surprise  was 
implied  in  the  manner  of  utterance. 

"  Yes,  a  German,"  answered  Bernard ; 
"  and,  as  you  understand  that  language,  I 
will  tell  you  in  plain  German  that  no  one 
passes  this  way  without  a  pass  from  the 
officer  on  guard." 

"  My  God  !"  replied  the  female,  in  trem- 
bling accents, "  we  are  in  great  haste.  This 
godly  man  goes  to  offer  a  dying  person  the 
last  consolations  of  earth ;  he  lies  there 
yonder  by  the  river ;  for  that  purpose  we  •? 
have  brought  biin  out  of  the  convent.  You 
would  not  prevent  such  a  pious  deed,  would 
you?" 

Bernard  now  first  discovered  that  the 
stranger  was  enveloped  in  a  monk's  habit, 
and  that  another  female  figure  was  standing 


-^-^-f" 


^ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


61 


behind  him.  Nothing  more  could  be  dis- 
tinctly Been  in  the  obscurity. 

"  I  dare  not  deviate  from  my  orders.  But, 
if  it  is  as  you  say,  go  along  that  lane  between 
the  walls ;  at  two  hundred  paces  distance 
you  will  find  the  next  sentinel ;  inquire  of 
him  for  the  lieutenant  of  the  guard.  He  is 
in  the  guard-house  close  by,  and  will  un- 
doubtedly suffer  you  to  pass." 

"  The  next  sentry  is  two  hundred  paces 
from  here  ?"  said  the  man  in  the  monk's 
cowl,  no  longer  in  a  sententious  tone. 

«  Two  hundred." 

"  That  is  pretty  far." 

"  I  cannot  help  that,"  answered  Bernard. 

The  stranger  seemed  irresolute ;  a  deep 
silence  followed.  At  that  moment  the  same 
clear  light  was  seen  in  the  direction  of  the 
river,  but  this  time  quite  near,  and  the  plash- 
ing of  an  oar  was  distinctly  heard.  Bernard 
was  surprised,  and  turned  toward  the  water. 
The  suspicion  flashed  upon  his  mind  that  this 
incident  was  connected  with  the  persons  be- 
fore him  ;  but  the  thought  had  hardly  nur- 
tured before  he  felt  himself  rudely  seized  by 
the  neck,  and  saw  a  poignard  flashing  against 
his  breast.  The  blow  took  effect,  but  was 
turned  aslant  by  the  broad  shoulder-belt  of 
buff-leather  from  which  his  sabre  was  sus- 

Snded,  and  only  made  a  scratch  on  the  skin, 
e  tore  himself  away  by  a  vigorous  move- 
ment, seized  hold  of  the  hand  in  which  was 
clutched  the  dagger,  and  aimed  a  blow  of  his 
eabre  at  the  head  of  his  unknown  enemy. 
The  party  drew  hastily  back,  avoiding  the 
blow,  but  slipped,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
Bernard  instantly  pulled  out  his  pistol,  held 
it  to  the  breast  of  his  fallen  foe,  and  cried  : 

"  Stir,  and  you  are  a  dead  man  !" 

But  on  the  instant  the  female  threw  her- 
self at  his  feet,  raised  her  arms  beseechingly 
towards  him,  and  cried,  in  accents  of  the 
greatest  terror : 

"  Have  mercy  !  mercy  !  do  not  kill  him  I" 

Bernard  felt  a  strange  thrill ;  that  voice 
went  to  his  inmost  heart.  He  was  on  the 
joint  of  calling  aloud  for  help,  but  the  ap- 
)earance  of  the  suppliant  who  encircled  his 
cnees  convinced  him  that  he  had  no  danger 
to  apprehend  in  that  quarter. 

"  I  will  take  no  revenge,"  he  said,  reso- 
lutely, "  but  my  duty  imposes  severity  upon 
me.     You  are  my  prisoner  !" 

"  Send  a  bullet  through  my  breast,  young 
man,"  said  the  prostrate  man  ;  "  for  it  would 
be  more  abhorrent  to  me  to  be  your  prisoner 
than  to  die !" 

"  Oh !  my  father !"  now  cried  the  young 
girl,  as  if  beside  herself,  seizing  his  hand. 
"  No  !  no  ! — not  so.  He  will  have  pity  !  I 
will  entreat  for  you  I" 

She  arose  and  turned  to  Bernard. 

"  Oh,  «ir,  your  words  betray  you  as  a  gen- 


tleman! Your  heart  will  understand  a 
daughter's  grief.  We  are  lost,  unless  you 
permit  us  to  go.  Oh,  be  magnanimous — let 
us  escape  !  I  would  offer  you  gold,  but  dare 
not  insult  a  man  from  whom  I  beg  a  noble 
deed  as  a  boon." 

Bernard  remained  standing  in  conflict  with 
himself. 

"  I  may  not  do  it.  Cease  !  Every  word 
you  utter  only  binds  me  more  to  my  duty.  I 
believe — I  know  whom  I  have  before  me  !" 

The  stranger  had  arisen  from  the  ground. 

"  You  are  a  German,"  he  said.  "  What- 
ever cause  may  have  brought  you  hither, 
your  first  duty  is  towards  your  father-land. 
I  swear  to  you  that  you  do  not  violate  that 
duty  by  letting  me  go  !"  • 

"  No,  by  the  eternal  heavens,  that  you  do 
not !"  cried  the  female,  lifting  up  her  hands 
in  testimony  of  her  oath.  "  My  entreaties  do 
not  lead  you  to  the  commission  of  any  crime. 
Never,  never  will  your  heart  reproach  you 
for  the  deed." 

The  clatter  of  arms  was  heard  at  a  distance. 
Some  one  appeared  to  be  coming.  Bernard 
listened  in  great  anxiety. 

"  Great  God !"  cried  the  suppliant,"  if  you 
wait  one  minute  longer  it  will  be  too  late  ; 
listen  to  the  prayer  of  the  sorely  aflSicted  !" 

Bernard  still  remained  standing,  torn  by  a 
violent  struggle.  Was  he  to  betray  the  first 
honorable  trust  which  his  profession  imposed 
upon  him  ?  Was  he  not  about  plunging  the 
friend  into  ruin  who  had  assisted  in  his  own 
deliverance  ?  And  still  his  own  fate,  but 
more  than  all,  the  indescribable  power  which 
the  pressing  entreaties  of  the  petitioner  exer- 
cised over  his  heart,  prevailed. 

"  Flee,  then,"  he  said,  hastily,  letting  his 
armed  hand  fall  to  his  side ;  "  but  I  dare,  I 
will  not  see  which  way  you  take  !  Away  ! 
away !" 

"  Thanks,  thanks  !"  whispered  the  beauti- 
ful figure,  her  voice  broken  by  tears  and  joy 
together,  as  she  seized  his  hand  and  en- 
deavored to  press  her  weeping  countenance 
against  it. 

On  feeling  the  warm  ]wessure  of  that  face, 
a  thrill  of  delight  coursed  through  Bernard's 
frame.  Meeting  and  separation  to  be  crowd- 
ed thus  into  one  and  the  same  moment! 
Was  he  to  suffer  Ifiis  miraculous  affair  to 
pass  without  leaving  a  trace  behind  ?  Ber- 
nard wished  at  least  some  token;  so  he 
quickly  drew  off  a  glove  from  the  fair  crea- 
ture's hand  ;  but  while  his  hand  passed  over 
her  slender  and  trembling  fingers,  he  came 
in  contact  with  a  ring.  He  endeavored  to 
draw  it  from  her  finger.  She  resisted  for  a 
moment. 

"  This  ring  ?"  she  said ;  "  this  very  one  ?" 

To  which  Bernard  replied : 


GS 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


"  Yes,  this  very  one  must  I  have  ;  do  not 
speak  loud — exactly  this  one,  or  none  !" 

But  he  had  already  torn  it  from  her  finger, 
at  the  same  time  impetuously  pushing  his 
own  ring  in  the  place  of  it. 

"  Well,  then,  take  it,"  she  said,  as  she 
passed  rapidly  away  from  him  ;  "  but  I  must 
have  it  back  when  the  war  no  longer  tears 
asunder  every  kindlier  tie  among  fellow- 
creatures.  Farewell,  and  may  the  Almighty 
ever  bless  my  preserver  !" 

A  few  moments  more,  and  Bernard  heard 
a  boat  loosening  from  the  shore,  and  then 
vigorous  strokes  of  oars  driving  it  through 
the  waves.     He  breathed  freer.  ' 

"  They  are  safe  now,  and  it  is  high  time, 
for  the  relief  guard  is  coming." 

He  could  still  hear  the  sound  of  the  oars 
as  the  guard  came  up,  and  the  usual  military 
ceremony  commenced. 

"  Nothing  new  on  your  post  ?"  asked  the 
non-commissioned  officer,  who  happened  to 
be  old  Petrowski. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Bernard. 

«  Relieved !" 

Louis  now  took  his  friend's  place ;  as  for 
Bernard,  his  tour  of  duty  was  over  for  the 
night.  He  hastened  home  ;  on  his  way  he 
fortified  himself  in  the  resolution  closely  to 
lock  up  the  whole  occurrence  in  his  own 
breast,  and  not  to  communicate  a  syllable 
about  it  even  to  Jaromir  or  to  Louis,  so  that 
at  the  worst,  the  fault  would  remain  all  his 
own. 

He  reached  his  room.  With  all  haste  he 
procured  a  light  in  order  closer  to  examine 
the  ring. 

"  Confusion  !"  he  cried  out,  as  he  held  it 
to  the  candle  ;  "  confusion  !  is  it  a  trick  of 
Satan,  or  am  I  out  of  my  senses  !" 

The  ring  in  his  hand  was  his  own  ! 

"  Oh,  what  a  fool !"  he  cried,  madly  striking 
his  brow  with  his  doubled  fist;  "  these  clumsy, 
silly  fingers  of  mine  have  changed  the  rings ! 
I  might  almost  beat  my  own  numskull  into 
a  mummy,  and  cry,  with  Franz  Moor  :* — 
'  Stupid  !  stupid  !'  " 

He  walked  furiou|ly  up  and  down. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !.  Wow  indeed  1  must  tell 
the  story  to  all  the  world,  for  it  is  too  ex- 
quisite !  And  did  she  notice  the  mistake  ! 
What  a  witless  fool  mxi§t  not  the  preserver 
appear  to  her  !  Bernard  !  Bernard  !  it  was 
a  masterly  stroke  !  Like  the  apprentice  to 
the  astrologer,  thou  standest  before  the  locked 
portals,  but  hast  forgotten  the  key  which  is 
to  open  them  to  thee  !" 

He  became  melancholy  ;  tears  started  into 
his  eyes.  He  sat  himself  down,  and  leaned 
his  head  upon  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it,"  he  said,  still  talking 

•  In  Schiller's  play  of  "The  Robbers."— Transl. 


to  himself;  "I  knew  all  that  long  ago;  I 
have  often  experienced  it.  It  is  my  fate 
which  always  pays  me  off  in  my  own  coin. 
I  ought  to  learn  to  know  these  tricks  some- 
time !  Not  that  I  care  about  finding  her 
again  ;  for,  at  best,  it  is  pretty  sure  that  I 
never  shall.  What  in  a  dark  night  appears 
so  bewitching,  is  very  likely  nothing  above 
common  by  day — all  trash  and  bother!" 

Half-dejected,  half-exasperated,  Bernard 
threw  himself  on  his  bed  ;  but  it  was  long, 
very  long,  ere  sleep  closed  his  0ye-lids. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 
■ 

The  opera  of  which  Regnard  had  spoken 
was  to  be  performed  on  that  evening.  Louis 
was  unable  to  ascertain  who  was  the  author 
of  the  piece  or  the  composer  of  the  music, 
either  from  its  name  or  from  the  dramatis 
persoruB  mentioned  in  the  placards.  He  felt 
great  curiosity,  therefore,  to  hear  the  mnsic, 
particularly  as  Frances  had  told  the  Countess 
that  it  was  very  charming,  and  that  she  never 
had  had  a  part  assigned  her  with  which  she 
was  so  much  pleased.  At  seven  o'clock  they 
all  drove  to  the  theatre  ;  the  Countess,  Lodo- 
iska,  Regnard,  and  our  three  young  friends 
were  altogether  in  the  same  box.  Bernard's 
eye  roved  with  delight  over  the  array  of 
beautiful  women  which  adorned  the  first  tier. 

"  Really,"  he  said,  jogging,  Louis  on  the 
elbow,  "  I  never  saw  a  theatre  with  such  a 
beautiful  garland  of  flowers  before.  At 
Drury-lane  and  Vauxhall  I  found  the  boxes 
filled  prettily  enough ;  the  English  women 
are  irresistible  in  their  noble  look,  the  ele- 
gance of  their  attire,  the  soft,  virgin  expres- 
sion of  their  blue  eyes ;  but,  by  St.  Luke ! 
the  patron  Saint  of  all  limners,  T  vow  to  thee 
they  are,  after  all,  nothing  but  false  stones 
when  compared  with  the  diamonds  we  find 
flashing  their  fires  here." 

"  But  Lodoiska  is  still  by  far  the  hand- 
.somest  of  them  all,"  said  Louis  in  a  whisper, 
"  though  I  must  agree  with  thee,  that  I  never 
have  seen  so  rich  a  circle  of  beautiful 
females." 

'•  She  is  not  the  handsomest,  that  you  may 
believe  on  the  word  of  a  professed  connois- 
seur like  myself,"  replied  Bernard  ;  "  but 
she  is  the  most  attractive,  the  sweetest,  the 
loveliest  of  them  all.  If  all  the  beautiful 
busts  which  are  leaning  over  the  front  of  the 
boxes  were  changed  into'  marble,  many  a 
nobler  form  would  be  seen ;  yea,  I  do  not 
vouch  but  that  Lodoiska  would  be  eclipsed 
by  the  Countess.  But  it  would  be  a  very 
different  affair,  if  we  had  all  these  individ 


il 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


nals  faithfally  transferred  on  the  canvasa, 
where  the  magic  effect  of  colors  and  looks 
throws  the  tints  of  the  rainbow  over  the  pure 
sarface  of  the  countenance.  Then,  I  con- 
cede to  you  that  Lodoiska  would  be  the 
primrose,  the  slender  delicate  lily,  the  modest 
violet — in  short  every  thing  that  is  lovely,  and 
the  most  beutiful  flower  of  the  whole  well- 
stocked  parterre." 

The  conversation  was  cut  short  by  the 
striking  up  of  the  music  in  the  overture. 
By  the  very  first  staves,  Louis  recognised 
that  the  piece  which  they  were  about  to  hear 
was  no  other  than  the  well-known  "  Swiss 
Family."    He  smiled  a  little  to  himself  at 
the  great  enthusiasm  with  which  the  Colonel 
had  spoken  of  the  work  ;    but  he  was  well 
aware  that  Alisette,  who  would  make  a  very 
pretty  appearance  in  the  character  of  Erae- 
line,  in  the  advertisements  had  been  re-bap- 
tised with  the  pastoral  name  of  Dorinna. 
And  the  reality  fully  justified  his  conjecture. 
The  introductory  scenes  passed  by  without 
producing  any  decided  impression.    But  the 
very  first  appearance  of  Alisette  rivetted  the 
attention  in  the  highest  degree.     She  had 
grasped  the  character  she  represented  with  a 
perfect  identity  ;  that  is,  she  had  transplanted 
the  fixed  forms  and  colors  peculiar  to  the 
nationality  of  the  Swiss,  into  a  region  of  her 
own,  hal^ideal,  and  yet  not  divested  of  its 
striking  characteristics.      In  the  costume 
she  had  preserved  some  traces  of  that  of  the 
Swiss,  but  here  and  there   with  arbitrary 
alterations  of  her  own.     She  wore  her  hair 
in  flowing  curls,  lightly  festooned  by  a  few 
ribbons,  one  of  which,  of  a  dark  color,  bor- 
dered the  white  open  brow.     Neck,  bosom, 
and  shoulders  were  not  so  much  covered  as 
in  the  real  national  costume,  though  she 
retained  the  becoming  black  boddice.     The 
dress,  on  the  contrary,  was  more  deep  and 
modest  than  usual,  reaching  down  to  the 
ankles,  and  it  was  not  so  puckered,  but  per- 
mitted the  form  to  be  seen  to  very  great 
advantage.     With    consummate    skill  and 
coquetry  she  had  encased  her  neat  little  feet 
in   sober-looking  stockings    with    flowered 
clocks,  and  tight-fitting  satin  shoes,  always 
taking    care  to  exhibit  them  in  the   most 
attractive  manner,  so  that  whether  walking 
or  stationary,  she  made  the  most  graceful 
appearance.     When  the  first  notes  of  her 
sweet  voice  were  heard,  Louis  was  aston- 
ished to  observe  her  delicale  organ  was  capa- 
ble of  filling  the  entire  house.    In  every 
part  the  voice  was  distinctly  audible  from  its 
faintest  breathing  to  the  fullest  and  most 
powerful  swell.    No  defect  was  perceptible 
in  the   tide  of  warbling  sounds,  but    the 
enchanting  songstress  always  found  the  ap- 
propriate key  and  volume  for  the  tenderest  as 
well  as  the  most  powerful  expression  of  the 


passions.    And  as  she  moreover  transfused 
with  inimitable  grace  the  spirit  of  the  music 
into  the  minutest  motion  of  her  frame,  even 
to  the  slightest  play  of  mien  or  look,  the 
lovely  image    wihich    she  presented    must 
necessarily  enrapture  and  fascinate    every 
heart.   Lodoiska  was  dissolved  in  tears,  even 
during  the  first  act.    At  the  words  :    "  Who 
ever  heard  me  complain  !"  the  agitated  girl 
instinctively  drew  her  hand  to  her  heart  as 
if  to  seek  some  relief  from  its  tremulousness. 
She  was  in  reality  so  carried  away  by  her 
sympathies  that   she  actually    experienced 
the  pain  which  Alisette  counterfeited  so  well. 
Or  was  it  a  prophetic  voice  which  spoke,  as 
yet  but  darkly  and  confusedly  within  her 
heart  ?    Was  it  a  mysterious  premonition, 
called  into  existence  through  the  proximity 
of  her  who  thfeatened  to  exercise  a  baneful 
influence  on  the  destiny  of  her  life  ?    Did 
she  already  behold  the  venomous  head  of  the 
viper  concealed  beneath  the  fragrant  roses  ? 
Jaromir,whose  fresh  and  lively  imagination 
became  readily  enchained  by    any  passing 
impression,  was  now  all  eye  and  ear.     Ali- 
sette led  his  heart  where  she  listed,  like 
another  Armida.     Bernard  indeed  imagined 
that  she  very  frequently  directed  her  looks  to 
the  handsome  youth,  but  she  seemed  also  to 
exercise  absolute  sway  over  every  heart. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  act  Regnard  left 
the  box ;  Bernard,  who  followed  him  with 
argus-eyes,  saw  him  directing  his  steps  to 
the  stage.  It  became  more  and  more 
evident  to  him  that  some  sort  of  connection, 
and  that  a  very  intimate  one,  existed  between 
Alisette  and  the  Colonel,  but  he  was  almost 
certain  that  the  heart  of  the  girl  had  but 
a  very  small  share  in  the  matter. 

Jaromir  turning  to  Lodoiska,  asked  her : — 
"  Is  it  not  beautiful  ?" 

"  Ves  !  but  also  painful,"  she  answered, 
heaving  a  sigh. 

Louis,  the  only  person  who  was  acquainted 
with  the  piece,  and  who  possessed  discrimi- 
nation enough  not  to  confound  the  merits  of 
the  performance  with  those  of  the  work  itself, 
expressed  his  opinion  to  the  Countess  with 
more  of  sound  judgment  than  of  admiration. 
She  listened  to  him  with  much  pleasure,  as 
indeed  she  generally  did  on  any  subject,  being 
much  impressed  by  his  serious  and  intelligent 
views.  Lodoiska  also  was  quite  willing  to 
be  disenchanted  from  her  oppressive  excite- 
ment. Jaromir  alone  seemed  opposed  to 
allow  any  defect -or  blemish  to  attach  to  that 
which  had  seized  on  his  untutored  heart. 
He  bSjd  until  now  been  so  far  removed  from 
every  thing  appertaining  to  refinement,  that 
the  first  suggestions  of  a  more  beautiful 
world  would  naturally  appear  somewhat  en- 
chanting. 

The  second  act  commenced,  ajid  in  this  the 


64 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ANi)  TWELVE ;  OR, 


tyro  already  made  the  discovery  that  he  by 
no  means  had  arrived  at  the  ultima  thule  of 
wonders,  for  the  interest  increased  amaz- 
ingly. But  the  finale  of  the  piece  threat- 
ened fully  to  overwhelm  the  young  loving 
hearts  in  the  exuberance  of  their  ex- 
cited feehngs.  Alisette  was  really  so  beau- 
tiful, so  pathetic,  that  the  art  even  in  the 
eyes  of  the  sober-minded  Louis,  became 
exalted  to  the  highest  regions  of  purity. 

The  Countess  and  Lodoiska,  accompanied 
by  Regnard,  drove  home,  while  the  three 
young  men  returned  on  foot,  and  conse- 
quently arrived  somewhat  later.  As  they 
were  ascending  the  great  Alight  of  stairs, 
they  were  met  by  the  Countess,  her  face 
radiant  with  smiles. 

"  Not  into  the  dining-hall,"  she  said ; 
"  follow  me  first  into  the  parlor,  for  the  table 
is  not  yet  quite  arranged." 

The  friends  unhesitatingly  followed  the 
injunctions  of  the  hostess.  No  one  but  the 
Colonel  was  in  the  room. 

"  Lodoiska,"  the  Countess  said,  "  is  chang- 
ing her  dress,  and  we  shall  have  to  wait  yet 
a  little  while,  as  the  lovely  Alisette  has  prom- 
ised to  sup  with  us." 

The  friends  sat  quietly  conversing,  hav- 
ing their  backs  toward  the  door,  when  Jaro- 
mir  suddenly  felt  two  hands  covering  his  eyes 
from  behind,  leaving  him  to  guess  who  the 
unknown  might  be;  but  time  was  not 
given  him,  for  Bernard  and  Louis  were 
already  on  tlieir  legs,  uttering  in  joyful  excla- 
mation, "  Count  Rasinski !"  while  it  was 
Boleslaus  who  had  covered  Jaromir's  eyes.^ 
He  embraced  his  friend  and  comrade  with 
stormy  affection,  and  then  greeted  Rasinski 
with  equal  impetuosity. 

"  How  have,  you  been  ?  What  have  you 
been  doing?"  were  questions  that  passed 
back  and  forth  without  any  one  waiting  for 
answer. 

"  A  thousand  cordial  greetings  from  your 
friends,"  were  the  first  words  which  Rasin- 
ski addressed  to  Louis,  as  soon  as  the  first 
ebullitions  had  subsided  ;  "  My  departure  was 
so  sudden,  that  there  was  no  time  to  send 
long  letters  by  me,  but  still  I  have  a  few 
lines,  and  with  the  next  mail  you  will  have 
more." 

The  news  from  his  friends,  this  first  con- 
necting link  with  a  happier  past,  naturally 
awakened  melancholy  feelings  in  Louis.  But 
this  melancholy  was  blended  with  a  gentle 
satisfaction  that  there  still  existed  for  him 
loved  beings,  who  watched  his  dark  path  of 
life,  and  whose  wishes  and  prayers  surround- 
ed him  like  guardian  angels.  From  his  heart 
he  thanked  the  bearer  of  such  welcome 
memorials,  and  begged  to  be  put  in  posses- 
sion of  what  was  designed  for  him. 

Bernard,  ever  circumspect,  took  the  first 


opportunity  to  call  Count  Rasinski  aside  and 
acquaint  him  with  their  change  of  names. 

"  Excellent !  my  young  friend,"  said  Ra- 
sinski ;  "  you  will  make  a  good  partisan,  for 
you  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open  to  some 
purpose.  That  is  a  good  omen,  I  think ; 
Count  Lomond,  you  may  put  in  your  claim 
for  promotion :  and  I  commend  you  besides, 
for  tacking  the  title  of  Count  to  your  name 
For,  however  rudely  the  times  may  shake  old 
things  and  new  in  the  dice-box,  lead  will 
ever  sink  to  the  bottom,  and  oil  float  on  the 
surface.  Rank  and  wealth  will  therefore 
only  be  things  of  worth  when  the  Russian 
Empire  shall  have  become  an  Athenian  Re- 
public, and  Madrid  or  Naples  transformed 
into  a  second  Sparta.  Something  may  be 
made  of  you,  my  friend  ;  and  Louis  may  be 
willing  or  not,  but  he  must  attach  a  Counter. 
Baron  to  the  name  of  Soren,  if  only  as  a  con- 
venient handle  in  addressing  him." 

They  then  returned  to  the  sitting  room  to- 
gether. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  fact,"  said  the  Countess, 
as  they  entered  ;  "  your  professional  duties 
seem  very  pressing,  as  you  begin  to  attend  to 
them  on  the  first  moment  of  your  arrival." 

"  Thou  knowest,  sister,"  answered  Rasin- 
ski, "  that  the  soldier  is  no  more  than  a  wheel 
in  the  machine,  which*  must  turn  according  to 
general  laws  if  you  will  avoid  its  stopping, 
or  save  the  refractory  part  from  being  crush- 
ed to  atoms.  But  everything,  I  trust,  is  now 
settled  for  to-day,  and  we  are  entirely  at  your 
service,  my  lady-sister." 

He  then  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  caress- 
ingly took  her  hand  in  his.  She  looked  at 
him  with  affectionate  concern,  as  if  'about  to 
examine  whether  he  were  indeed  the  beloved 
brother  of  old. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  after  a  few 
moments'  scruntiny ;  "  but  thou  seemest  to 
me  somewhat  altered,  Stephen.  I  observe  a 
furrow  here  on  thy  brow,  which  looks  much 
like  those  iron  grief  ploughs  up  from  the  soul. 
Indeed,  brother,  thy  brow  is  no  longer  that 
clear  open  front  v;hich  inspired  strength  while 
looked  upon." 

"  Age,  my  dear  Jeannot,  exacts  its  claims 
upon  me,"  he  answered,  smiling.  But  the 
deep  seriousness  of  his  aspect  was  not  to  be 
disguised  beneath  so  flimsy  a  veil. 

"  It  is  not  the  furrow  of  age  ;  it  is  one  of 
sorrow  or  care.  Make  thy  sister  the  partici- 
pant of  one-half  of  thy  troubles ;  otherwise 
her  burden  will  be  doubled,  and  thou  unable 
to  prevent  it ;  for  as  thou  knowest  right  well, 
uncertainty  magnifies  danger." 

This  conversation  between  brother  and  sis- 
ter was  carried  on  unnoticed  by  the  rest  of 
the  company.  The  Countess  reiterated  her 
request  for  confidence  from  her  brother,  which 
he  answered  only  by  grave  silence,  looking 


#..... L... 


'-"■-^-'      '^' 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


65 


thoTightfully  before  him  and  slowly  shaking 
his  head. 

"  Our  countiy,"  he  answered,  at  last,  "  de- 
mands all  the  energies  of  our  being,  and 
many  other  sacrifices  besides.  We  offer  them 
cheerfully ;  but  no  one  ought  to  take  um- 
brage if  we  cannot  be  altogether  insensible 
to  the  pain  which  the  loss  or  voluntary  re- 
nunciation of  many  blessings  must  entail." 

The  sister  looked  at  him  with  pity,  and 
gave  him  her  hand.  He  pressed  it  in  silence, 
and  fastened  a  grateful  loving  look  upon  her 
true  and  faithful  features. 

The  attention  of  the  party  was  now  at- 
tracted by  a  new  object.  Alisette  entered  the 
parlor.  She  floated  across  the  threshold  of 
the  apartment  like  a  May-queen  ;  for  she  car- 
ried a  rich  bouquet  in  her  hand,  having  placed 
one  of  the  roses  in  her  own  bosom.  Making 
a  friendly  courtesy,  she  quickly  passed  by  the 
gentlemen,  and  with  light  and  buoyant  steps 
tripped  up  to  the  Countess,  who,  being  last, 
in  pensive  -broodings  had  not  perceived  her 
approach.  Neither  did  Rasinski  become  con- 
scious of  her  presence  till  slie  stood  right  be- 
fore him,  when  he  sprang  up  with  some  little 
embarrassment,  to  salute  her  as  a  stranger. 

"  Here  I  am  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  silver 
tones,  makinjB[  a  graceful  courtesy.  "  But 
may  a  poor  Swiss  maiden  dare  to  appear  in 
this  illustrious  circle  ?" 

"  Welcome,  welcome  !"  answered  the  lady 
of  the  house  ;  "  and  what  an  exuberance  of 
gifts  does  my  sweet  siren  bring  !"  she  cried, 
.  on  seeing  the  nosegay  of  fragrant  roses.  "  I 
cannot  shoW  a  single  bud  in  my  garden  yet ; 
but  in  your  hands  is  the  whole  in  full  blow  at 
once." 

"It  is  a  piece  of  gallantry  for  which  I 
do  not  know  whom  1  have  to  thank,"  Alisette 
replied.  "I  was  yet  in  my  dressing-room, 
busy  changing  my  costume,  when  some 
one  knocked.  My  maid,  Constance,  opened 
the  door  a  very  trifle  and  asked  who  it  was. 
Instead  of  an  answer  an  unknown  hand  put 
this  rare  bouquet  into  her  hands.  It  is  cruel, 
is  it  not,  to  consign  so  many  beautiful  flow- 
ers to  so  early  a  death  ?  My  unknown  and 
munificent  friend  must  have 'plundered  all 
the  rose-bushes  in  Warsaw ;  for  they  are  yet 
scarce,  and  of  the  wild  ones  certainly  not 
one  is  yet  in  flower." 

."  How  highly  favored  are  these,  then,  to 
have  such  a  sweet  destination !"  said  Ra- 
siski,  gallantly. 

Frances  now  first  looked  at  him,  and  was 
surprised  at  seeing  a  stranger. 

"  My  brother,"  said  the  Countess,  intro- 
ducing him,  at  the  same  time  making  him 
acquainted  with  her  by  expatiating  on  the  ex- 
quisite treat  which  the  art  of  the  pretty  can- 
tatrice  had  afforded  that  evening.  She  seem- 
ed to  be  very  happy  in  receiving  this  homage 


to  her  talents ;  but  declined  all  praise,  by 
modest  deprecating  words.  She  then  play- 
fully took  the  roses,  and  said  : 

"  I  must  be  grateful  for  so  much  kindness. 
So  many  eulogies,  so  many  roses  !  here  ! 
here  !"  saying  which, ^with  pljiyful  assiduity 
she  distributed  to  eaich  one^  rose.  ButReg- 
nard  received  none. 

"  Yoti  did  not  applaud  me,  and  therefore  I 
give  you  no  flower.  But  to  you  I  will  give 
two  instead,"  she  said,  turning  to  Jarotnir, 
giving  him  the  two  most  beautiful  ones  of 
the  whole  collection.  Without  tarrying  to 
receive  his  astonished  acknowledgment,  she 
turned  with  empty  hands  back  to  the  Coun- 
tess, who  received  her  with  a  playful  threat 
of  the  uplifted  finger,  saying  : 

"  Thou  prodigal  daughter  !  Is  that  the  way 
you  dispose  of  the  gifts  of  your  admirer? 
If  he  only  were  here  !"  casting  a  glance  at 
Regnard. 

"Would  that  he  were.  He  would  then 
see  that  his  present  has  afforded  me  the  high- 
est of  pleasure  :  a  thousand  times  greater 
than  if  I  had  seen  it  wither  sadly  away,  in  a 
vase  on  my  toilet." 

Lodoiska,  silent  as  a  shadow,  had  entered 
the  apartment,  and  stood  unexpectedly  at  the 
Countess'  side. 

"  Ah  !  there  you  are  at  last !"  cried  Ali- 
sette, approaching  with  a  salute.  "  How  is 
this,  and  you  have  no  rose,  and  yet  have  ap- 
plauded me  prettiest  of  all  ?  Or  do  you  sup- 
pose that  I  did  not  see  your  tears  ?  When 
my  singing  moved  you  to  tears  or  to  smiles, 
I  was  assured  that  it  indeed  reached  the 
heart.  And  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  give 
you  one  single  rose,  as  a  token  of  my  thanks ! 
But  here  is  one  yet,"  she  cried,  joyfully  look- 
ing down  upon  the  one  at  her  boson\.  She 
took  it  and  tried  to  fix  it  on  Lodoiska's  breast. 
But  the  latter  resisted,  respectfully  but  de- 
cidedly declining  the  honor. 

This  little  contest  between  the  two  beauti- 
ful girls  presented  indeed  a  charming  pic- 
ture. Alisette,  in  her  white  robe-like  attire, 
an  image  of  spring — the  youthful  Hebe. — 
Lodoiska,  in  a  dark  silk  dress,  serious  and 
yet  amiable.  The  cheeks  and  lips  of  Alisette 
glowing  with  the  brightest  vermillion — ^joy 
flashing  from  her  azure  eyes — her  slightlj^- 
curled,  bright  chestnut  hair  flowing  in  waving 
ringlets  Tound  her  neck  and  shoulders.  The 
other,  like  the  lily,  a  rosy  tint  on  her  cheek  ; 
the  eye  large,  earnest,  mild.  Her  marble 
brow,  and  noble,  snow-white  neck,  shrouded 
by  the  rich  tresses  of  her  jet-black  hair ; 
feminine,  yet  dignified  in  her  carriage  ;  lov- 
ing, yet  timid  in  her  movements.  Alisette, 
ever  in  fascinating  activity  and  motion  ;  the 
other  floating  gently  along,  confiding  and 
calm. 

She  finally  succeeded  in  fastening  the  rose 


86 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ;  OR, 


in  the  golden  zone  by  which  Lodoiska's  robe 
was  confined ;  and  the  delicate  flower  was 
beautifully  set  off  against  the  dark-grey 
ground  of  the  dress. 

"  Now  I  am  satisfied — now  I  am  happy  !" 
exclaimed  Frances,  as  she  gained  the  victory. 
"  Now  the  rose  first  appears  to  me  really 
beautiful.     I  do  not  at  all  deserve  it." 

Bernard  observed  the  speaker  as  she  utter- 
ed these  words,  and  saw  an  expression  of 
sadness  in  the  otherwise  animated  features 
of  the  girl.  It  appeared  to  him  as  if  she 
felt  some  remorse  in  reflecting  that  her  last 
words  contained  a  bitter  truth  with  regard  to 
herself. 

He  thought  to  himself:  is  she  really  a 
beautiful  Magdalen,  for  whom  the  time  of 
penitence  has  not  yet  arrived  ?  At  the  same 
time  determining  to  pursue  his  watchful  ob- 
servations. When,  therefore,  the  folding- 
doors  of  the  supper-room  were  thrown  open 
he  stepped  up  to  her  and  again  offered  his 
arm  as  he  had  done  three  days  before.  She 
accepted  it  with  a  friendly  look,  saying  : 

"  You  have  not  kept  your  word  ;  you  have 
not  in  many  particulars.  You  was  to  give 
me  a  sketch  for  every  one  of  my  songs  •,  yon 
promised  to  let  me  see  your  sketch-book,  and 
you  even  were  to  take  my  likeness  !  But  all 
this  you  have  forgotten.  You  have  not  even 
called  to  see  me,  though  we  are  such  near 
neighbors.  Well,  it  is  something  at  any  rate, 
tliat  you  remember  me  now,  and  wish  to  sit 
by  me  at  table." 

Bernard  answered  these  sportive  recrimi- 
nations by  making  renewed  promises ;  the 
company  sat  down  to  table,  and  he  took  his 
place  by  his  lovely  neighbor  with  alacrity 
and  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  xxni. 

V 

To  the  days  of  pleasure  and  social  inter- 
course now  succeeded  those  of  grave,  stern 
professional  obligation.  Rai^inski  had  been 
co;nmanded  to  hasten  the  completion  of  his 
corps  ;  fatiguing  duties  were  consequently 
allottL-d  to  all  concerned  ;  drills  on  horseback 
and  on  foot  were  mulliplied  ;  guards  had  to  be 
mounted  and  relieved  ;  field  exercise  had  to  be 
practised  ;  in  short,  neither  officers  nor  men 
found  any  time  to  devote  to  the  recreations 
of  society.  The  Emperor  was  expected 
every  day,  and  Rasinski  was  ambitious  of 
presenting  him  a  corps  in  some  degree 
organised  and  disciplined.       The   manifold 

fcnde  and    pleasing   ties   and   associations 
ithcrto  existing,  were  therefore  severed  by 
the  rude  hand  of  necessity.     With  regard  to 


the  ardent  wishes  of  Jaromir,  Rasinski  had 
granted  his  preliminary  promise,  and  had 
thus  rendered  the  lovers  inexpressibly  happy ; 
still  he  held  it  indispensably  necessary  to 
write  to  an  uncle  of  Lodoiska's  and  obtain 
his  consent  to  the  match.  Until  then  the 
lovers  were  still  compelled  to  guard  their 
secret,  and  to  observe  that  distant  behavior 
to  each  other  which  etiquette  enjoined.  Ber- 
nard and  Louis  were  almost  incessantly  on 
duty  ;  the  latter  with  difficulty  snatched  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  leisure  to  write  to  his 
mother  and  sister.  Of  course  Bernard  had 
no  time  to  think  of  pursuing  his  observations 
with  regard  to  Alisette,  or  to  take  the  prom- 
ised likeness  of  Lodoiska. 

One  evening  Rasinski  came  home  in  un- 
usual excitement,  and  entered  the  saloon, 
where  Jaromir,  the  Countess,  and  Lodoiska 
were  sitting,  saying : 

"  Our  destiny  is  decided.  The  Emperor 
left  Dresden  the  29th  of  May,  will  stop 
a  few  days  at  Posen,  and  then  probably, 
proceed  to  Thorn  without  coming  to  War- 
saw. We  have  received  orders  to  march  on 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  to  take  the  road 
toward  Kowno.  One  day  more,  therefore, 
is  our  own ;  we  will  sp^nd  it  here  in  the 
social  circle.  To-day  I  may  yet  be  a  brother 
and  a  friend ;  to-morrow  I  can  be  only  a 
soldier." 

His  eye  shone  brightly  as  he  uttered  these 
words,  heightening  the  dignity  and  mild 
earnestness  of  his  fieatures.  But  on  the  ladies 
this  intelligence  had  a  saddening  effect,  while 
the  men,  who  began  to  weary  of  a  state  of 
suspense,  were  filled  with  joy.  Lodoiska  turn- 
ed pale  and  trembled  like  a  frightened  deer ; 
the  countenance  of  Rasinski's  sister  betrayed, 
to  say  the  least,  a  mournful  anxiety. 

"  So  soon  ?"  she  said,  rising  to  meet  her 
brother. 

"  The  war,"  continued  Rasinski,  "  seems 
now  to  be  irrevocably  declared.  All  the 
negotiations  of  Narbonne  are  overthrown. 
It  is  said  that  it  is  the  destiny  of  our  country 
which  constitutes  the  particular  bone  of  con- 
tention between  the  two  Sovereign?.  Napo- 
leon wishes  us  to  be  acknowledged  as  a  free 
.and  independent  nation  ;  but  Russia  is  not 
accustomed  to  relinquish  the  prey  which  she 
has  once  grasped  with  her  bloody  talons. 
She  shows  her  rapacious  teeth.  It  remains 
to  be  seen  whether  the  Hercules,  before 
whose  uplifted  club  all  Europe  trembles, 
shall  carry  away  the  victory  in  this  fearful 
struggle  with  the  monster." 

A  noble  blush  of  anger  colored  Rasinski's 
cheeks  while  thus  speaking.  His  sister, 
standing  before  him  with  sorrowful  looks, 
smoothed  the  hair  from  his  brow  and  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  said  : 

"  Thou  wast  used  to  cherish  a  bolder  and 


NAPOLEON'S  INNASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


more  joyous  confidence  formerly,  though 
fewer  were  the  stars  of  hope  which  glim- 
mered above  the  horizon.  Take  courage, 
Stephen !  If  we  cannot  repose  on  thy  manly 
strength,  what  is  there  to  ^sustain  and  keep 
us  women  ?" 

Rasinski  smiled. 

"  There  are  now  and  then  moments,  sister, 
when  every  thing  looks  dark  to  me ;  but  they 
do  not  last  long,  and  when  theoe  is  need  of 
fortitude  and  decision,  these  do  not  fail  me. 
But  let  it  pass  ;  to-day  and  to-morrow  I  be- 
long to  you — to  the  quiet  retirement  of  the 
family  circle,  and  I  shall  feel  all  the  better 
for  it.  I  will  restrain  myself  from  trans- 
cending that  sacred  boundary  which  the  evil 
genii  of  our  existence  for  ever  tempt  us  to 
leap.  For  if  I  step  beyond  this  magic  circle, 
the  open  ocean  is  ready  to  receive  me,  and 
my  defenceless  bark  would  be  at  the  mercy 
of  the  hurricane.  Moreover,  we  have  do- 
mestic arrangements  to  attend  to,"  he  said, 
directing  his  look  to  Lodoiska ;  "  we  will 
not  forget  thy  sweet  foster-child." 

Lodoiska  cast  her  pretty  eyes  to  the 
ground,  while  a  gentle  blush  rose  on  her 
cheek. 

•*  Yes,  my  children,"  continued  Rasinski, 
stepping  between  Jaromir  and  Lodoiska, 
"  have  you  considered  well  what  you  are 
about  to  do  ?  Who  would  not  be  happy  in 
contemplating  your  loves  ?  You  are  worthy 
of  each  other  ;  Jaromir  is  noble-minded  and 
brave,  and  will  know  how  to  appreciate  and 
guard  a  heart  such  as  yours,  Lodoiska. 
But  are  these  times  in  which  to  form  ties  of 
love  ?  Can  we  hope  for  a  harvest  from  seed 
sown  in  a  whirlwind  ?  Who  embarks  when 
the  sea  rages  and  foams  ?  Who  would  keep 
a  festival  in  a  house  tottering  on  the  brink 
of  a  precipice?  Have  you  4  measure  by  which 
to  estimate  the  fulfilment  of  your  hopes  1  Ypu 
cast  yourselves  into  the  swelling  surge  with- 
out knowing  whether  the  next  wave  will  sepa- 
rate you  or  throw  you  upon  a  happier  shore!" 

Lodoiska  looked  gently  up  to  Rasinski 
and  said  : 

"  But  are  not  times  of  chinger  and  sorrow 
the  very  ones  which  are  better  endured  when 
shared  with  a  companion  ?" 

"  But  a  man  ought  not  to  identify  the  fate 
of  another  vvitii  his  own  as  long  as  it  is 
more  vacillating  than  the  rolling  billow." 

"Truly,"  cried  Jaromir  animatedly,  "I 
dare  not  sue  for  thy  hand,  for  every  thing 
hangs  on  the  cast  of  a  die ;  and  yet  I  would 
fain  forge  some  link  of  hope  !" 
j»  In  pronouncing  these  last  words,  he  looked 
so  piteously  innocent  and  beseeching,  that 
Rasinski  could  not  help  giving  a  compas- 
sionate smile.  Taking  them  both  by  the 
hand  he  answered : 

"  If  you  have  truly  and  seriously  weighed 


this  matter ;  if  it  is  not  a  mere  efferveflcence 
of  the  passing  moment  which  actuates  you;  if 
thou,  Jaromir,  canst  so  far  master  thy  youth- 
ful volatile  disposition  as  to  endure  the  ordeal 
of  long  dismal  years  of  trial,  then  indeed  you 
may  have  the  right  to  enter  into  a  bond 
of  betrothal,  and  no  danger  threatening  from 
without  should  keep  you  back.  For  I,  too, 
have  learned  to  respect  that  laudable  feeling, 
which  in  the  more  serious  moments  of  exist- 
ence unites  two  loving  hearts,  in  view  more 
of  tlie  cares  and  troubles  than  of  the  joys 
which  are  in  store  for  them.  Thy  uncle, 
Lodoiska,  has  invested  me  with  the  power  of 
a  parent,  to  betroth  thee  to  Jaromir.  If  thou 
dost  not  shrink  from  venturing  the  first  step 
on  the  territory  of  duty,  I  may  join  your 
hands,  and  you  may  exchange  the  rings  em- 
blematical of  your  promises." 

The  gentle  being  stood  trembling  in  sweet 
confusion  before  her  earnest  fatherly  pro- 
tector, a  deep  crimson  covering  her  face. 
He  gently  raised  her  drooping  head  as  he 
repeated :  "  Wilt  thou  '"  Instead  of  answer- 
ing she  sank  silently  on  the  bosom  of  the 
Countess  who  had  stepped  to  her  side,  still 
sufiering  her  right  hand  to  remain  in  that  of 
Rasinski,  who  placed  it  into  Jaromir's. 

"  Oh,  how  unspeakably  happy  thou  hast 
made  me  !"  he  exclaimed,  pressing  the  hand 
of  the  trembling  maiden  to  his  glowing  lips. 

"  She  is  now  thy  bride,"  said  Rasinski, 
"  and  every  sacred  obligation  binds  thee  to 
her.  Wilt  tho*  have  the  courage  to  fulfil 
these  obligations?" 

"  Unto  the  death  !"  cried  Jaromir,  vehe- 
mently drawing  to  his  bosom  the  charming 
creature  who  had  devoted  herself  to  him 
with  all  the  trustfulness  of  the  female  heart. 

Boleslaus  entered  at  this  juncture ;  he 
became  pale  as  a  corpse  on  seeing  the  era- 
brace  of  the  happy  (fties  ;  for  in  his  heart  he 
had  conceived  a  profound  earnest  love  for 
the  beautiful  Lodoiska,  without  suspecting 
that  she  was  the  betrothed  bride  of  his  friend. 
But  he  conquered  his  pain  at  once  with  an 
equanimity  and  fortitude  of  which  his  severe 
yet  impassioned  cliaracter  alone  was  capa- 
ble, and  exhibited  a  calm  and  serene  counte- 
nance while  the  death-blow  pierced  his 
vitals.  He  approached  the  group  before  him 
with  a  firm  step. 

"  I,  too,  may  now  wish  you  joy  and  hap- 
piness ?"  he  said,  turning  to  Jaromir. 

"  No,"  cried  the  other  enthusiastically, 
"  for  I  am  already  in  possession  of  the  great- 
est blessing  which  earth  can  offer  !" 

The  friends  embraced  cordially ;  Boleslaus 
mad^  a  solemn  bow  to  Lodoiska,  took  her 
hand,  and  said : 

"  May  you  be  happy,  uninterruptedly  hap- 
py i"  but  he  trembled  and  turned  pale ;  it 
was  too  much  even  for  his  youthful  heroism. 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


"  Do  you  know,  Colonel  Rasinski,  that  we 
are  to  march  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?"  he 
said,  addressing  the  latter,  in  order  to  turn 
the  conversation  into  a  new  channel. 

"  Certainly. !"  answered  Rasinski. 

"Also  that  Colonel  Regnard  marches 
with  his  regiment,  the  dragoons,  and  the 
three  companies  of  flying  artillery  2" 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  the  orders  only  in 
as  far  as  they  concern  myself,"  answered 
Rasinski ;  "  I  must  say,  however,  that  I  am 
not  over-well  pleased  with  this  large  addition 
to  our  force,  because  the  more  there  are  of 
us,  the  worse  quarters  we  shall  have.  I  love 
my  country,  but  with  regard  to  her  hospi- 
table towns  and  villages,  they  are  better  pre- 
pared to  starve  out  the  enemy  than  to  feed  a 
friendly  army." 

Bernard  and  Louis  now  also  entered,  thus 
completing  the  family-circle.  The  betrothed 
pair  were  presented  to  them  also,  and  re- 
ceived from  them  the  sincerest  congratula- 
tions and  wishes  of  happiness. 

Rasinski  in  the  course  of  the  evening  dis- 
played a  quiet  joyousness  and  contentment, 
which  rendered  him  uncommonly  amiable. 

"  What  a  pity,"  he  said,  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  "  that  our  friend  Bernard  has 
so  much  to  do  with  swords  and  lances !  There 
has  been  no  time  allowed  him  to  handle  his 
brush  and  pencil ;  otherwise  he  must  have 
drawn  me  a  likeness  of  our  sweet  bride." 

Jaromir  exclaimed : 

"  And  he  has  even  promi^d  me  to  do  it ; 
he  wanted  to  paint  her  full-length  portrait." 

"  Well,  if  I  have  not  had  time  to  make  a 
picture,  v^fhy  can  I  not  at  least  try  to  take  a 
sketch  ?"  interposed  Bernard.  "  The  evening 
is  our  own ;  even  a  hasty  sketch  is  better 
than  nothing ;  and  a  few  hours  furnish  plenty 
of  time  for  that.  It  is  a  noble  privilege  of 
our  art  that  in  such  cases  only  a  part  of  our 
faculties  are  put  in  requisition,  ami  may  dis- 
turb us  as  little  as  others  in  our  social  inter- 
course ;  at  any  rate  we  exact  but  some  very 
trifling  sacrifice— hand  and  eye  are  at  work, 
but  the  ear  is  at  liberty  to  follow  the  train  of 
conversation,  and  the  mind  easily  accommo- 
dates itself  to  these  several  occupations. 
Permit  me,  therefore,  to  fix  my  little  extem- 
pore atelier  in  this  room — to  place  the  can- 
dles ^as  I  may  require  to  have  them,  and 
grant  as  a  license  for  my  eyes  the  otherwise 
not  very  well-mannered  indulgence,  to  fix 
them  steadfastly  on  the  object  of  my  industry ; 
and  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  bring  some- 
thing to  pass  which  will  be  thought  worthy 
to  serve  as  a  small  indemnity  for  the  larger 
performance,  for  v/hich  there  is  indeed  now 
no  time.  You  may  continue  your  talk  and 
other  pursuits  perfectly  unrestrained  ;  a  like- 
ness stolen  in  an  unsuspected  moment  pos- 
sesses often  more  truth  and  animation  than 


when  the  object  solemnly  and  methodically 
prepares  to  be  transferred  to  the  canvass." 

All  present  joyfully  acceded  to  Bernard's 
propdsal,«nd  he  was  installed  in  plenary  form 
to  make  every  arrangement  to  suit  himself. 
He  insisted  only  on  the  observance  of  one 
condition,  viz. :  that  no  one  should  look  at 
his  performance  prematurely,  as  no  artist 
loves  to  have  his  operations  watched  during 
the  progress  of  his  task. 

He  then  brought  in  his  drawing  apparatus, 
placed  the  lights  in  Order,  changed  a  little 
his  position  with  regard  to  the  others,  and  set 
vigorously  to  work. 

The  conversation  proceeded  uninterrupted 
between  the  others  ;  Bernard  even  took  some 
share  in  it,  though  on  the  whole  he  listened 
more  than  he  spoke,  only  throwing  in  a  word 
here  and  there,  to  join  in  this  or  that  asser- 
tion, fortifying  it  by  some  remark  of  his  own, 
or  to  launch  a  pointed  shaft  of  remonstrance 
or  dissent. 

The  conversation  turned  only  on  common 
topics,  such  as  called  forth  a  certain  lively 
interest,  but  did  not  originate  any  passionate 
excitement  of  the  mind.  Bernard  had  made 
this  an  object  of  request  at  the  outset,  because 
it  would  become  impracticable  for  him  to 
proceed  in  the  "  even  tenor  of  his  way"  if 
any  violent  emotions  should  find  room  to  in- 
terfere ;  he  knew  with  consummate  skill  how 
to  preserve  the  conversation  in  this  calm  and 
even  tenor,  and  to  impose  a  check  at  the 
right  time,  or  to  give  the  spur,  according  as 
the  conversation  lagged  or  threatened  to  flow 
on  too  rapidly. 

"  I  have  done  f"  he  cried,  when  about  two 
hours  had  passed,  springing  up  from  his 
chair  with  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

Full  of  curiosity,  they  all  crowded  around 
him  to  look.  He  stepped  back  a  few  paces, 
and  held  up  the  paper  mischievously,  with 
the  blank  side  towards  the  company. 

"  No  staring,  no  profane  gazing,  I  beg," 
he  cried  ;  "  your  expectations  are  too  high  ; 
it  is  a  half-spoiled  joke,  nothing  more.  Had 
I  time  to  do  it  over*  to-morrow,  I  would  burn 
this  sheet  before  anybody  had  seen  it.  This 
I  swear  by  my  artistical  honor,  which  I  iim 
just  about  to  expose  to  the  pillory." 

He  now  turned  the  paper  about ;  twO 
sketches  were  visible  upon  it.  The  first  rep- 
resented Lodoiska,  the  second  Jaromir;  both 
exhibiting  the  busts  only,  slightly  sketched, 
but  executed  with  great  spirit  and  most 
speaking  resemblance.  Every  one  admired 
the  successful  effort  and  the  cleverness  of  the 
performance ;  Jaromir  in  particular,  who  cried 
out  in  raptures : 

"  What  a  glorious  gift !  what  a  welcome 
surprise !  How  shall  I  ever  thank  you 
enough  for  this  pleasure  !     I  can  now  take 


-"ry 


I  w  *-«      .  t  f  A 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


with  me  the  likeness  of  my  beloved  and  leave 
mine  with  her." 

Louis  was  the  only  one  who  contemplated 
the  drawings- with  fixed  attention.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  said,  laughingly  : 

"  I  could  not  think  at  first  why  thou  didst 
make  those  gothic  frames  around  the  heads  ; 
but  knowing  thee  pretty  well,  I  believed  that 
there  must  be  some  good  reason  for  it,  and  I 
think  that  I  have  found  it  out.  The  idea  is 
very  good,  and  I  think  still  better  carried  out 
m  the  execution." 

"  Yes,  yes,  thou  knowest  my  tricks,"  an- 
swered Bernard,  "  and  that  I  rarely  go  a 
hundred  steps  together  in  a  straight  line.  It 
has  become  as  a  second  nature  to  me,  to 
make  some  caper  or  other  out  of  the  plain 
road,  for  ever  since  I  was  born,  a  grinning 
baboon  fias  stuck  to  my  shoulders,  and  is 
not  to  be  civilized  or  frightened  away." 

On  hearing  this  speech,  the  rest  became 
exceedingly  curious  to  know  what  the  secret 
was.  As  soon  as  they  looked  attentively,  it 
was  quickly  discovered.  Bernard  had  sketch- 
ed around  each  of  the  portraits  a  square  and 
apparently  old  fashioned  frame  ;  in  each  cor- 
ner of  this  frame  appeared  a  face,  which  was 
a  most  striking  likeness  of  some  one  of  the 
persons  present.  At  tl)c  two  upper  corners 
were  Rasinski  and  his  sister,  and  Louis  and 
Boleslaus  below,  taken  off  to  the  life.  Be- 
sides this  he  had  ornamented  each  frame 
with  a  flourish  at  the  top,  in  which  he  had  in- 
troduced his  own  satyr's  phiz  looking  down 
with  a  mocking  expression  on  his  own  work 
underneath. 

This  humorous,  but  very  agreeable  addition 
to  the  gift  was  acknowledged  with  enthusi- 
astic approval.  Bernard  received  praise  from 
every  quarter,  and  particularly  from  Jaromir, 
who  expressed  his  joy  with  affectionate 
eagerness. 

"  Such  a  sketch,"  he  said,  "  makes  me 
really  happy ;  yes,  it  gives  me  more  pleasure 
than  the  most  finished  picfure  ;  for  this  I  can 
always  carry  with  me,  and  solace  myself  with 
looking  at  it.  However  faithfully  her  image 
will  ever  accompany  me,  it  is  still  something 
very  different  when  one  can  thus  look  at  it 
with  his  bodily  eyes." 

"  Just  as  true,"  answered  Bernard,  "  as  it 
is  something  quite  different  when  one  sees 
the  bgloved  herself  before  one's  eyes.  Is  it 
not  so?" 

liodoiska  lowered  her  eyes  a  little  as  Ber- 
nard looked  at  her,  but  she  raised  them  im- 
lafldiately,  and  looked  at  Jaromir  with  inex- 
pipsible  tendernet-s,  as  if  in  confirmation  of 
what  Bernard  had  said. 

Much  cause  as  every  individual  in  the 
circle  miirht  have  for  seriousness,  this  little 
incident  had  diffused  so  pleasant  and  joyous 
a  radiance  over  the  sombre  colorings  of  their 


minds,  that  if  not  merry,  they  were  at  least 
serene  and  attuned  to  receive  gentle  and 
pleasing  impressions. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

At  eariy  dawn  the  rolling  of  drums  and 
clang  of  trumpets  sounded  through  the  streets 
of  VVarsaw,  calling  the  troops  togetiier  for 
marching.  Lodoiska  listened  to  the  noise 
with  a  trembling  heart,  the  prelude  to  the 
thousand  dangers  which  the  beloved  of  her 
soul  was  about  to  encounter. 

The  Countess  observed  these  preparations 
with  less  anxious  solicitude,  but  with  more 
of  patriotic  hope  ;  she  had  within  her  too 
much  of  the  enthusiasm  of  a  true  daughter 
of  Poland  not  to  look  with  pride  upon  the 
warlike  scenes  with  which  those  busy  days 
were  so  replete.  She  even  beheld  her  brother, 
the  dearest  object  left  her  on  earth,  going 
forth  at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  lofty  and  exulting  gratification. 

The  clattering  noise  of  sabres  on  the  mar- 
ble floor  of  the  corridor  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  Rasinski  and  his  comrades,  coming 
in  to  bid  the  ladies  adieu.  They  were  all 
dressed  in  full  uniform,  handsomely  accoutred 
with  sashes  and  swords,  and  the  chako  with 
its  waving  plumes  ornamented  their  heads. 
Military  array  generally  imparts  a  martial 
bearing  to  both  body  and  mind.  The  men 
were,  therefore,  let;s  affected  at  the  moment 
of  actual  leave-taking  than  their  previous 
mood  would  have  led  one  to  suppose.  Ra- 
sinski pressed  his  sister  to  his  breast  with 
fraternal  tenderness,  and  said,  in  a  firm, 
manly  voice : 

"  We  are  going  forth  in  a  noble  cause ; 
let  no  sorrow  or  repining  take  possession  of 
our  souls  ;  let  it  breathe  nothing  b'ut  a  holy 
fervor,  burning  within  us  in  a  clear  flame,  in 
our  country's  behalf.  We  will  purify  our 
desecrated  altars,  erect  new  hearths  for  our 
scattered  household-gods,  again  plant  the 
standard  of  the  Jagellonians  on  our  frontiers, 
and  cause  their  hallowed  ensigns  once  more 
to  shine  upon  the  glory  of  our  nation  !  Fare- 
well, beloved  sister  ;  let  thy  blessing  and  thy 
prayers  rest  not  upon  me,  nor  upon  us,  but 
upon  our  arms  only  ;  offer  up  thy  orisons  to 
the  Almighty  for  victory  alone  !  Whether 
we  fall,  or  whether  we  return,  matters  no- 
thing, as  long  as  the  white  eagle  of  Poland 
soars  aloft  in  the  clear  sky  of  Liberty  !  Fare 
thee  well !  May  God  preserve  thee  for  bap- 
pier  days  I"  V  ' 

The  arm,  which  in  prophetic  assurance  he 
had  raised  aloft,  now  dropped  to  his  side ; 


;»^?wf  .;i ' 


70 


EGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ;  uiC 


once  more  he  kissed  his  sister,  imprinted  a 
kiss  also  on  Lodoiska's  pale  cheek,  then  left 
the  apartment  with  hasty  strides,  and  rushed 
out  to  throw  himself  on  his  steed. 

Jaromir  clasped  his  bride  to  his  heart  amid 
the  scalding  tears  of  youthful  separation. 
That  heart  l^at  high  in  anticipation  of  battling 
for  his  country's  welfare,  yet  it  bled  at  the 
Beparaiion  from  the  one  to  which  it  was 
bound.  Lodoiska  could  not  weep,  for  a 
shuddering  chill,  more  cruel  than  the  acutest 
pain,  rongealed  her  tears.  Her  ashy  lips 
and  cheeks,  her  feverish  trepidation  alone 
revealed  the  measure  of  agony  she  endured 
It  this  solemn  moment. 

With  regard  to  the  other  three  young  men, 
:hough  not  being  so  near  to  Lodoiska  s  heart, 
;hey  felt  heavily  the  hour  of  parting.  With 
1  silent  shake  of  the  hand,  they  bade  all 
idieu. 

And  now  the  trumpets  without  sent  forth 
:heir  loud,  shrill  call.  The  noise  of  many 
lorsemen  was  heard.  The  Countess  hasten- 
ed to  the  window.  It  was  Rasinski's  new 
regiment,  which  came  dashing  up  before  the 
jalace  to  receive  their  leader.  The  regi- 
nental  band,  discoursing  patriotic  music,  pre- 
ceded the  cavalcade ;  some  of  the  officers 
ivho  had  ridden  on  before,  came  up  at  a  short 
gallop  to  salute  Rasinski.  Mounted  on  his 
Arabian  grey,  the  latter,  in  manly  beauty  and 
with  the  looks  of  a  hero,  issued  from  the  gate 
Df  the  court.  He  was  followed  by  Jaromir 
an  a  slender  chestnut-colored  hunter,  that 
Hew  over  the  ground  with  the  grace  of  a  roe ; 
I  lew  moments  after  Boleslaus  issued  forth 
)n  a  black  charger,  its  mane  floating  wildly 
ibout  its  proud  neck. 

Now  was  heard  the  Joud  greeting  of  the 
ftrarriors,  welcoming  their  chief;  the  band 
struck  up  once  more,  the  banners  fluttered  in 
;he  morning  breeze,  the  polished  arms  and 
lelmets  glittered  in  the  sun,  the  horses 
stamped  and  snorted,  plumes  and  panaches 
ivavcd,  and  the  exciting  spectacle  grew  mo- 
nentarily  more  animated.  The  exulting  and 
jxalted  leeling  which  penetrated  the  bosom 
)f  the  Countess  at  the  sight  of  this  brave 
jand,  persuaded  her  that  the  same  sight 
vould  assuage  Lodoiska's  grief,  and  brace 
ler  up  to  a  noble  exertion  of  strength.  She 
vent,  therefore,  to  the  sorrowing  girl  and 
iummoned  her  aftectionately  to  follow  her 
)ut  on  the  balcony  to  witness  the  departure 
if  the  troops. 

"  Rouse  yourself,  take  courage,"  she  said, 
nildly  but  importunately  ;  "  every  vigorous 
xercise  of  the  will  become^  a  defence  against 
he  pain  which  threatens  to  overwhelm  us. 
fou  will  derive  strength  and  consolation  from 
eeing  your  beloved,  as  a  man  and  a  hero, 
ravely  going  forth  to  battle  for  his  country, 
iove  is  nurtured  by  respect,  and  with  love 


also  fortitude  to  endure  and  to  snffbr.  Come, 
arise,  and  exhibit  a  hopeful  spirit  to  the  de< 
parting  friend." 

Lodoiska  found  herself  wonderfully  strength- 
ened by  these^  mild  but  Arm  remonstrances. 
She  felt  it  in  her  loving  heart  to  be  a  duty  in- 
cumbent upon  her  to  alleviate  instead  .of 
aggravating  the  hour  of  parting.  Resolutely 
girding  up  her  strength,  she  followed  the 
Countess,  who  conducted  her  through  the 
adjoining  saloon  out  upon  the  balcony. 

The  very  sight  of  the  dazzling  crowd  of 
warriors  was  refreshing  to  Lodoiska's  deeply 
wounded  bosom.  The  bells  of  the  cathedral 
just  then  commenced  ringing,  and  the  morn- 
ing-masses were  heard  chiming  in  with  the 
boisterous  notes  of  war.  The  blue  vault  of  the 
sky  bent  over  the  scene  ;  the  birds  twittered 
merrily  among  the  gently  murmuring  leaves ; 
the  bright  morning  breathed  its  vivifying  in- 
fluence into  every  breast. 

Rasinski  noticed  the  ladies  on  the  balcony ; 
he  nodded  to  them  with  a  friendly  smile.  His 
countenance  bore  the  stamp  of  a  noble  enthu- 
siasm ;  every  trace  of  sorrow  had  vanished, 
for  this  iron  spirit  ruled  his  most  poignant 
feelings.  He  wished  to  appear  before  his 
men  with  unclouded  brow,  so  that  the  cheer- 
ful confidence  of  their  chief  might  also  inspire 
them  with  courage  and  hope;  he  willed  it, 
willed  it  firmly,  and  thence  it  became  possible 
for  him"  to  do  it.  The  appearance  of  the 
ladies,  therefore,  did*  not  disconcert  him  ; 
without  turning  his  eye  from  his  men,  or 
neglecting  the  most  trifling  punctilio,  he  con- 
trived to  assure  his  sister  that  he  was  fully 
aware  of  her  presence  and  was  glad  of  her 
encouraging  sympathy.  With  Jaromir  it 
was  otherwise ;  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
diverted  from  the  business  in  hand,  and  thus 
afforded  his  comrades  an  opportunity  of  in- 
dulging in  a  laugh  at  his  expense  ;  for  while 
keeping  his  eyes  rivetted  on  the  balcony  he 
blundered  with  his  horse  right  into  the  midst 
of  his  own  troop,  and  thus  threw  both  men 
and  horses  into  a  state  of  confusion.  Boles- 
laus, on  the  other  hand,  fixed  his  undivided 
attention  on  his  duty.  With  keen  eye  he 
inspected  men,  horses,  accoutrements,  saddle- 
gear  and  knapsacks ;  on  one  occasion  only 
he  threw  a  furtive  glance  to  the  female  forms 
on  the  balcony,  as  if  on  some  stolen  or  un- 
lawful object. 

The  regiment  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the 
palace.  The  windows  of  every  house  were 
crowded  with  spectators  of  both  sexes.  Many 
a  tear  trembled  in  the  eye  of  beauty,  or  hid 
itself  behind  the  veil  which,  according  to 
ancient  custom  on  all  public  occasions,  dis 
tinguishes  the  Polish  maiden  from  thft  married 
woman. 

"  Attention  !     Right  dress  !"  sounded  Ra- 
sinski's word  of  command,  and  spurring  his 


-w . 


NAPOLEON'SINVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


71 


horse,  he  flew  like  an  arrow  to  the  end  of  the 
right  wing.  The  profoundest  silence  now 
reigned ;  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  com- 
mander, every  ear  eagerly  listening  for  his 
word. 

"  Draw  sabres  I"  he  cried,  and  the  glitter- 
ing weapons  appeared.  "  Front  rank,  for- 
ward ! — halt !  To  the  right,^  forward ! — 
march !" 

The  front  broke  up,  the  soul-stirring  notes 
of  the  trumpets  and  bugles  sounded  loudly  ; 
Rasinski  galloped  to  the  head  of  his  regiment 
and  defiled  past  the  palace  windows.     On 
coming  in  front  of  the  balcony,  he  gave  a 
military  salute,  at  the  same  time  casting  a 
parting  glance  upwards.     The  Countess,  in 
answer  to  this,  cast  a  white  silken   scarf, 
which  she  had  thrown  lightly  around  her. 
neck,  down  to  the  rider.    This  was  done  in 
conformity  with  the  ancient  custom  of  Po- 
land, which  accorded  to  the  females  the  privi- 
lege, publicly,  with  their  own  hands,  of  be- 
stowing upon  thej  warrior  when  going  forth  to 
battle,  some  token  to  take  with  him.     Ra- 
sinski caught  it  on  the  point  of  his  sword, 
and  immediately  wound  it  around  his  arm. 
The  whole  regiment  gave  a  loud  approving 
hurrah.     Directly  there  flew  and   fluttered 
handkerchiefs,   breast-knots,  scarfs,  ribbons 
and  veils  from  every  window.     The  sister 
did  not  give  her  token  to  the  brother,  not  the 
bride  to  her  affianced,  the  wife  not  to  the 
husband  ;  no,  the  daughter  of  Poland  gave  it 
to  the  son  of  Poland.     The  warriors  caught 
the  sweet  memorials  with  their  swords  and 
lances.     One  beautiful  lady,  with  rich,  dark- 
brown  waving  hair,  standing  at  a  window 
opposite  the  palace,  tore  her  veil  in  two,  and 
let  both  the  halves  drop  down.     By  chance 
it  happened  to  be  Louis  and  Bernard  who 
seized  them   on  the  points  of  their  lances. 
The  fiery  Bernard  returned  an  impassioned 
glance,  and  in  wanton  boldness  even  threw 
up  a  kjss ;   ihe  beauty  smiled   graciously. 
Louis  saluted  her  also,  but  more  sedately  ;  he 
thought  of  another  form,  which  ever  floated 
before  his  imagination  as  in  the  waste  and 
boundless  domain  of  things  irrecoverably  lost ; 
but  nevertheless  the  beams  of  that  soft  and 
friendly  eye  touched   him   with  warm   and 
gentle    impulse.      Bernard     cried    out    in 
French : 

"  I  am  not  a  Pole,  but  I  fight  cheerfully 
for  Poland  !" 

His  reward  was  a  rose,  which  the  lady 
plucked  4^om  a  rose-bush  standing  by  her  in 
the  window.  He  caught  it  dexterously  in  its 
fall,  put  it  into  a  button-hole  on  his  breast, 
returned  one  more  grateful  salute  to  the 
charming  giver,  and  then  galloped  swiftly 
back  to  his  place  in  the  ranks. 

Lodoiska  was  undetermined  what  to  do. 
She  could  not  throw  down  her  veil  without 


betraying  her  deep  grief  and  swollen  eyes  to 
the  gaze  of  the  world.  But  she  quickly 
loosened  a  breast-knot  from  her  bosom,  which 
she  let  fall,  intending  it  for  Jaromir,  but  the 
envious  wind  carried  it  away,  and  Boleslaus 
was  the  happy  man  to  whose  hand  it  came. 
He  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  threw  an  ardent 
look  up  to  Lodoiska.  Jaromir  noticed  it, 
and  conceived  the  suspicion  that  it  was  not 
meant  for  him,  though  Lodoiska  immediately 
let  fall  a  second,  which,  wafted  by  a  more 
favorable  breeze,  landed  of  itself  on  Jaromir's 
shoulder.  As  suddenly  inflamed  by  anger  as 
by  love,  he  had  also  as  quickly  forgiven  as 
he  became  incensed,  looked  up  to  his  be- 
trothed with  a  loving  eye,  took  the  knot,  and 
then  fastened  it  as  a  proud  trophy  on  his 
breast. 

The  troops  now  turned  into  the  small  street 
in  which  Alisette  dwelt.  She  stood  at  the 
window  looking  at  the  passing  horsemen. 
She  saluted  all  the  officers  wiili.  whom  she 
was  acquainted,  and  was  saluted  in  return 
by  almost  every  one,  for  they  all  knew  the 
charming  songstress.  With  true  French 
naivete  she  wafted  her  adieus  to  certain  in- 
dividuals, now  with  a  merry  laugh,  now  with 
a  saddened  smile,  and  when  any  one  rode 
close  under  the  not  very  high  window,  she 
wafted  him  a  sweet-sounding  adieu.  Ber- 
nard in  particular  received  an  uncommonly 
friendly  salute  of  this  description,  to  which 
he  responded  in  the  same  manner,  though 
not  without  a  vague  sensation  of  regret  that 
he  now  parted,  perhaps  for  ever,  from  this 
fascinating  creature.  His  former  suspicions 
against  her  would  have  been  dissipated,  had 
he  not  observed,  as  he  once  more  looked  back 
toward  her,  how  evidently  her  countenance 
changed  as  Jaromir,  who  was  riding  a  few 
files  behind,  approached  her  window.  She 
took  out  a  bouquet  of  roses  and  forget-me- 
nots,  which  she  till  then  had  kept  concealed, 
threw  it  to  the  handsome  young  cavalier,  and 
by  words  and  looks  bid  him  the  most  emphatic 
farewell.  Jaromir,  blushing  from  contending 
emotions,  came  to  a  halt,  spoke  a  few  mo- 
ments with  the  bewitching  young  girl,  and 
thanked  her  in  apparently  the  tenderest  ac- 
cents. 

Ahem  !  thought  Bernard,  with  a  shrug,  for 
he  espied  Lodoiska,  who,  in  order  yet  longer 
to  gaze  after  the  troops,  had  gone  to  a  window 
in  the  saloon,  and  had  been  an  eye-witness 
of  the  little  scene,  without  Jaromir's  being 
aware  of  it.  Soon  after,  he  tried  to  seize  a 
moment  to  ride  up  to  Jaromir.  Having  come 
up  with  him,  he  said,  in  a  half-jesting,  half- 
threatening  manner : 

"  Recreant !  what  hast  thou  done  ?     Real-  ~ 
ly,  dost  not   blush  for   having  offered    thy 
last  parting  salute  to  that  seductive  Phryne  ? 


72 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


She  is  the  last  one  on  whom  thy  lingering 
thoughts  dwell !" 

"  No,  upon  honor,  no  !"  cried  Jaromir ; 
"  my  heart  now  as  ever  beats  only  for  Lodo- 
iska ;  it  belongs  to  her.  But  Alisette  was 
always  so  friendly  towards  nje  !" 

"  Yes  ;  but  too  friendly  !  Take  heed  to 
thyself,"  answered  Bernard. 

Jaromir  smiled. 

"  There  is  no  danger  !  But  ride  back  to 
thy  station  now — for  we  come  directly  to  the 
bridge  of  Praga,  which  we  must  pass  in  the 
exactest  order." 

The  column  here  stopped  in  its  march — 
for  several  other  detachments  flowed  in  at 
this  point,  where  several  cross-streets  meet. 
Colonel  Regnard,  too,  was  to  be  seen  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment.  The  order  of  march' 
was,  however,  quickly  arranged.  Rasinski 
with  his  cavalry  led  the  van.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  detachment  of  dragoons.  Reg- 
nard with  Jiis  infantry  closed  in  upon  them, 
and  then  the  artillery  brought  up  the  rear. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  spectacle  to  see  these 
troops  covering  the  long  bridge,  while  the 
splendid  Vistula  mirrored  from  its  placid  wa- 
ters the  dazzling  pageant  moving  in  many 
variegated  forms.  Both  banks  of  the  stream 
were  lined  with  multitudes  of  people.  Far 
and  wide  re-echoed  the  loud  huzza.  Shout- 
ings, waving  kerchiefs,  and  streamers  shone 
in  the  sunbeams.  The  clanging  of  arms  ; 
the  tramp  and  neighing  of  gallant  steeds  ;  | 
the  deafening  thunder  of  cannon — all  this 
completed  the  imposing  and  warlike  pano- 
rama. Individual  importance  rose  more 
proudly  in  the  sublime  aspect  of  these  mass- 
es. Private  grievings  and  troubles  were  sunk 
in  the  tumultuous  waves  which  heaved  and 
sustained  the  whole;  and  filled  only  by  a 
chivalric  longing  for  the  battle,  manly  hearts 
looked  joyfully  forward  to  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Everything  on  the  estate  of  Count  Dol- 
gorownear  Smolensko,  on   the  Dnieper,  was 
in  the  greatest  commotion.     This  was  occa- 
sioned by  two  items  of  news  received  but  a 
few  hours  before  by  the  inmates  of  the  cas- 
tle, as  well  as  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  de- 
pendent villages  around,  which  had  created  a 
general  though  widely  contrasted  state  of 
excitement.     The  first  item  was  of  a  joyful, 
nature  ;  for  an  avant-r.ourier  had  announced 
the    speedy  arrival  of  the  Count   from  St.  I 
Petersburg.     He,    with   his  family,  had   for  i 
two  years  sojourned  in  foreign  lands.     His  i 
vassals,  during  this  period,  had  felt  the  loss! 


of  his  severe,  but  in  their  eetimatioa,  jast 
and  impartial  jurisdiction.  '  A  general  joy, 
therefore  prevailed,  on  hearing  of  his  speedy 
return. 

But  this  joy  was  materially  disturbed  by 
another  piece  of  intelligence,  which  the  over- 
seer of  the   estate   had  brought  from    Smo- 
lensko. The  enemy,  it  was  said,  had  actnally 
passed  the  barriers  of  the  Empire — the  war 
had  commenced,  and  the  Russian  array  was 
already  retreating  at  every  point  before  the 
irresistible  power  of  the  French  Emperor. — 
As  usual,  in   such  cases,  the  rumors  were 
much  exaggerated.     Some  pretended  already 
to  know  that  Prince  Bagration  had  been  com- 
pletely routed.     According  to  other  reports. 
General  Barclay  de  Tolly  had  fallen  in  with 
Marshal  Davoust,  and  after  a   sanguinary 
ba.ttle,  been  obliged  to  seek  safety  in  retreat. 
The   greatest   consternation  had,  therefore, 
seized  upon  the  inhabitants;  for,  ignorant  of 
the  distances,  they  considered  themselves  on 
the  very  brink  of  destruction.     The  people 
gathered  before  the  gates  of  the  castle,  ask- 
ing for  counsel  and  help.     The  overseer  had 
great  difficulty  in  pacifying  them.     He  suc- 
ceeded, however,  by  representing  that  the 
coming  of  the   master   had  undoubtedly  no 
other  object  than  to  provide  for  his  own  peo- 
ple  in   these  critical   circumstances.     Not- 
withstanding, a  pusillanimous  terror  prevailed 
in  most  minds,  and  the  aged  and  venerable 
clergyman  of  the  village,   Gregorius,  was 
obliged  to  employ  all  the  influence  and  dignity 
of  his  office  in  order  to  raise  the  confidence 
of  the  desponding. 

"  Fear  not,  my  friends,"  said  this  worthy 
priest,  stepping  into  their  midst.  "  The  peo- 
ple of  Rurik  are  under  the  protection  of  our 
Heavenly  Father  and  all  the  Saints.  Do 
you  imagine  that  they  will  forsake  us  ?  Do 
you  imagine  that  they  would  abandon  our 
holy  altars  to  the  profane  insults  of  a  ruth- 
less enemy  ? — Never,  I  tell  you,  can  these 
aliens  subjugate  the  old  stock  of  the  Russes  ! 
The  holy  St.  Ivan,  whose  golden  cross  glit- 
ters on  the  cupola  of  the  cathedral  at  Moscow, 
is  mightier  than  the  many  thousands  which 
the  foreign  conqueror  leads.  I  tell  you,  it  is 
the  star  of  their  perdition  which  they  follow  ; 
bloody  it  blazes  before  them,  and  lures  them 
on  to  certain  destruction  !  As  the  hosts  of 
Pharaoh  perished  in  the  billows  of  the  Red 
Sea,  so  these  sacrilegious  miscreants  will  lan- 
guish and  die  in  our  forests  of  a  thousand 
years'  growth,  and  which  no  axe  I^s  ever 
touched.  The  howling  wolf  shau  gnaw 
their  bleached  bones  ;  the  croaking  raven«hall 
fatten  on  their  carcasses  ;  for  with  us  is  the 
Lord  of  Hosts — the  bands  of  angels.  Wo 
are  shielded  by  the  holy  mother  of  God. 

''  Be  not  faint-hearted,  therefore,  but  arm 
yourselves  as  the  champions  of  the  holy  St 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


Ivan.  From  the  Niemen,  which  bounds  the 
kingdom  of  Rurik  in  the  west,  to  the  proudly 
flowing  Volga — ^to  the  mountains  of  the  Ural 
which  tower  above  the  uttermost  boundaries 
of  Europe,  the  enemy  shall  find  no  place  of 
rest.  The  hut  of  the  Russ  is  the  seat  of 
hospitality  ;  but  he  will  set  it  on  fire  from  the 
flame  of  his  own  hearth  sooner  than  it  shall 
offer  a  shelter  to  the  enemy,  who  has  come  to 
desecrate  and  despoil  the  sepulchres  of  our 
Czars,  and  to  overthrow  the  altars  of  our 
God.  Therefore,  you  must  not  flee,  my 
friends,  but  you  must  fight;  Let  him  that  is 
not  cut  down  by  the  axe  of  the  husband  take 
his  death  from  the  poisoned  food  which  the 
wife  sets  before  him.  Do  not  tremble  nor  be 
dismayed-;  lament  not ;  do  nt>t  tear  the  sil- 
vered hair  and  the  whitened  beard.  You 
shall  yet  live  to  see  many  happy  days !" 

Thus  spoke  the  inspired  priest  to  the  as- 
sembled hordes  of  the  Mugiks,  who  listened 
to  him  with  mingled  awe  and  surprise.  He 
had  dwelt  among  them  full  fifty  years  as  their 
spiritual  guide,  and  during  four  and  seventy 
summers  he  had  seen  the  ice  on  the  rivers 
thaw  away. 

The  castle  was  situated  on  an  eminence 
from  which  might  be  seen  for  a  great  distance 
the  Dnieper  in  all  its  windings.  The  river 
meandered  between  steep  green  hills  at  the 
base  of  which  it  ran  along  the  road  to  Smo- 
lensko.  The  towers  of  that  city,  reddened 
by  the  evening  sun,  rose  on  the  horizon.  One 
of  the  boors  who  had  kept  his  keen  eye  look- 
ing in  that  direction,' suddenly  cried  out : 

"  There  comes  the  master  !" 

All  turned  their  looks  the  same  way  and 
burst  simultaneously  into  a  joyous  shout  on 
seeing  three  carriages  approaching  on  the 
road.  With  Joud  j ubilee  they  hastened  down 
the  eminence  to  greet  the  new-comers.  It 
was,  indeed.  Count  Dolgorowwith  his  wife  and 
their  daughter,  Feodorowna.  The  two  ladies 
.  were  seated  in  the  first  carriage.  In  the 
second  was  the  Count  with  a  stranger  o'f  a 
military  aspect  at  his  side. 

On  seeing  the  assembled  serfs,  the  Count 
ordered  the  carriages  to  stop  and  dismounted. 
The  serfs,  with  their  hands  crossed  on  their 
-,  breasts  humbly  welcomed  their  master,  en- 
'  deavoring  to  kiss  the  hem  of  his  garment. 
The  women  crowded  with  similar  humility 
around  the  Countess.  Feodorowna,  of  ma- 
jestic figure,  was  the  only  one  who  would  not 
suffer  this  servile  homage,  but  reached  out 
her  hand  in  a  friendly  manner  to  the  matrons 
and  maidens  who  approached  her.  The 
Count  after  a  few  minutes  repulsed  the  affec- 
tionate importunity  of  his  serfs,  but  only  in 
as  far  as  they  incommoded  him.  He  and 
his  lady  spoke  with  kindness  to  the  people. 
The  priest,  whose  steps  were  weakened  by 
age  now,  also,  pressed  through  the  crowd 


and  welcomed  the  Count  with  respect,  but 
without  servility  or  sycophancy. 

"  What !  Father  Gregorius  !  I  am  glad  to 
see  you,"  said  Dolgorow.  "  You  were  the 
first  one  I  thought  of  with  uneasiness,  fear- 
ing lest  I  should  not  be  permitted  to  see  you 
again.  It  affords  me  ^reat  pleasure  that 
the  sun  of  this  spring  yet  shines  upon 
you." 

"  My  strength  is  yet  unabated,"  replied  the 
clergyman.  "  It  is  true  I  am  every  day  lia- 
ble to  be  called  before  the  throne  of  the  Al- 
mighty. But,  thanks  to  his  mercy,  I  am  still 
enabled  to  discharge  the  duties  on  earth 
which  the  Lord  has  laid  upon  me."  -^^ 

In  the  meantime  Feodorowna  approached  : 

"  Blessing  and  honor  be  upon  your  head, 
venerable  Father !  It  is  indeed  a  great  joy 
to  me  to  see .  you  again,  and  in  such  health 
and  cheerfulness." 

"  May  the  mother  of  God  be  with  thee 
and  preserve  thee  in  her  holy  keeping,"  said 
the  aged  minister,  while  laying  his  hand  on 
her  gently  bowed  head.  "  The  angels  of  the 
Lord  have  guarded  thee  kindly,  my  daugh- 
ter, and  thou  hast  come  back  more  beautiful, 
than  when,  as  a  tender  bud  thou  didst  leave 
us.  The  saints  have  heard  my  prayers — for 
daily  have  I  invoked  them  to  grant  thee  their 
succor." 

Thus  spake  the  old  man,  looking  affection- 
ately at  the  fair  maiden  whose  childhood  and 
youth  he  had  guided. 

"  Oh,  certainly  they  have  accompanied  us 
with  their  protection,"  answered  Feodorowna, 
with  pious  emotion  ;  "  for  God  has  been  with 
us  in  every  extremity." 

She  seemed  to  wish  to  say  something  more, 
but  stopped  abruptly,  being  deterred  by  a 
glance  from  her  father,  to  whom  the  great 
intimacy  of  his  daughter  with  the  old  priest 
was  disagreeable.  Immediately  afterwards 
the  stranger,  a  large,  well-formed  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  stepped  up  to  her  and  offered 
his  arm  to  assist  her  in  ascending  the  now 
steeper  path. 

The  Count  walked  in  the  midst  of  his  de- 
pendents, speaking  to  individuals  among 
them,  informing  himself  about  their  domes- 
tic affairs  and  the  most  noticeable  events 
which  had  taken  place  in  his  absence. 

"  Thou  hast  lost  thy  wife,  Isaac,"  he  said 
to  a  boor  well  stricken  in  years. 

"  Yes,  my  gracious  master,"  answered  the 
old  man. .  "  She  died  last  fall,  and  I  have 
felt  the  want  of  a  housekeeper  ever  since." 

"  Thy  eldest  son  shall  marry,"  answered 
the  Count.  "  Wasilof 's  daughter  will  make 
him  a  good  wife.  I  will  arrange  about  the 
wedding  one  of  these  days." 

The  old  man  returned  his  most  humble 
thanks  for  this  command — for  such  was,  in 
fact,  the  promised  benefaction  of  the  Count. 


74 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


The  overseer  enquired  timidly  about  news 
of  the  war. 

"  The  enemy  is  marching  to  our  frontiers," 
answered  the  Count.  "  He  is  pressing  on  in 
great  numbers.  My  principal  motive  for 
coming  to  my  estates  is  to  take  such  mea- 
sures as  tiie  war  may  render  necessary." 

"  I  heard  to-day,  in  Smolensko — "  began 
the  overseer,  with  an  air  of  importance  and 
concern. 

"  Ah  !  probably  the  same  silly  stories  with 
which  they  have  persecuted  me,"  interrupted 
the  Count  without  giving  any  farther  ex- 
planation. 
1^  The  news-devouring  overseer  tried  his  luck 
again,  remarking  with  an  expression  of  anx- 
iety : 

"  We  were  very  much  alarmed." 

But  the  Count,  who  did  no^  love  to  chat 
with  his  servants,  without  answering  turned 
away  to  the  priest. 

"  I  shall  want  your  assistance,  Gregorius, 
to  keep  my  subjects  in  good  confidence  and 
spirits,  especially  when  they  are  needlessly 
alarmed  by  the  spreading  about  of  foolish 
rumors." 

The  oVerseer  slid  shyly  off  on  one  side,  glad 
enough  to  escape  thus  easily  the  penalty  for 
his  impertinence. 

Gregorius  answered  the  Count : 

"  I  will  enkindle  the  hearts  of  the  people 
in  defence  of  the  faith  of  their  fathers — of  the 
ancient  throne  of  the  Czars,  and  of  our  hal- 
lowed country." 

"  You  will  do  well  in  this,"  answered  the 
Count.  "  But  hatred  is  more  powei"ful  than 
love,  therefore,  I  would  rather  see  that  you 
filled  their  minds  with  implacable  hatred  to 
our  enemies.  Describe  them  as  robbers  and 
assassins,  who  come  only  to  lay  waste  our 
fields,  to  desolate  our  villages  and  towns 
with  fire  and  sword,  to  drive  away  our  flocks 
and  herds — to  ravish  our  wives  and  daughters, 
and  slay  our  men." 

"  They  may  do  all  these  things  and  com- 
mit yet  more  atrocious  deeds,"  answered 
Gregorius.  "  It  would  still  be  my  duty  as  a 
priest  to  inculcate  gentleness  and  a  con- 
ciliating spirit  towards  them.  But  they  come 
as  the  enemies  of  our  God.  the  destroyers 
and  polluters  of  our  temples.  These  crimes 
we  must  avenge.  All  other  goods,  the  per- 
ishable vanities  of  life,  we  must  only  de- 
fend." 

A  scowl  on  the  Count's  brow  evinced  his 
dissatisfaction  with  the  priest's  answer.  But 
he  said  nothing,  well  knowing  that  he  might 
sooner  shake  a  mountain  from  its  base  than 
overcome  the  firmness  and  religious  scruples 
of  old  Gregorius. 

They  had  in  the  meantime  reached  the 
castle-gates.  The  Count  entered  his  an- 
cestral halls,  while  the    people  remained 


without.    Gregorius  was  the  only  one  who 
followed. 

"  Wait  for  us  in  the  dining-hall,  worthy 
Father,"  the  Count  said.  "  As  soon  as  we 
have  taken  off  our  travelling  dresses  we  will 
look  for  you  there.  I  myself  will  be  with 
you  in  a  few  minutes,  to  consult  with  you 
respecting  a  matter  of  great  moment." 

With  these  words  he  disappeared  through 
the  door  which  led  to  his  own  private  rooms. 
The  ladies  also  retired  to  their  chambers,  to 
change  their  habiliments.  The  stranger 
was  conducted  into  the  reception-room. 

Gregorius  entered  the  hall  where  he  was 
to  await  the  Count.  More  than  two  years 
had  passed  away  since  he  last  entered  these 
apartments.  The  hall  was  built  in  an  an- 
tique and  singularly  mixed  style.  Four  very 
high  bow- windows  in  golhic  frames  looked 
out  over  the  landscape  towards  the  river,  so 
that  the  glowing  sky  of  evening  threw  its 
golden  glories  into  the  vaulted  apartment. 
The  walls  were  adorned  with  black  marble 
pillars,  between  which  were  suspended  in 
old-fashioned  frames  the  portraits  of  the 
family  ancestors.  The  flooring  was  of  wood, 
as  were  also  the  side-panels,  having  gilt 
edges  and  divided  into  compartments  in  the 
style  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  Two  old- 
fashioned  chandeliers  hung  from  the  vaulted 
roof,  and  against  the  walls  round  about  stood 
large  branching  candelabra  bf  bronze.  The 
whole  bespoke  splendor  and  wealth,  yet  pre- 
sented a  gloomy  sombre  aspect,  extending 
even  to  the  prospect  and  sky,  which,  as  seen 
through  the  old  gothic  bow-windows  assum- 
ed the  character  of  autumn  rather  than  Rus- 
sian spring-time — the  month  of  June. 

Gregorius,  seating  himself  in  one  of  the 
old-fashioned  arm-chairs,  surrendered  him- 
self to  his  grave  and  mournful  thoughts  : 

"  I  have  lived  four  and  seventy  years,  and 
m jr  life  has  ever  been  one  of  peace  and  de*, 
votion — for  no  malignant  influence  threaten-"^ 
ed  the  sanctuary  entrusted  to  my  care.  And 
now  I  must,  in  the  far  advanced  decline  of 
my  days;  ray  steps  tottering  on  the  borders 
of  the  grave,  exchange  the  olive-branch  of 
peace  for  the  sword  of  vengeance.  But  be 
it  as  the  Lord  wills  !  His  is  the  fructifying 
dew,  the  gentle  rain,  the  golden  beam  of  the 
sun.  His  also  are  the  lightnings  and  thun- 
ders of  the  darkened  heavens.  He  sends  out 
his  messengers  and  servants  to  bless  and  to 
slay,  to  instruct  the  godly  and  guide  them  to 
Himself,  or  to  hnrl  the  evil-doers  into  the 
darkest  pit  of  hell  from  whence  they  have 
risen.  Gregorius  bows  his  grey  head  sub- 
mis.sively  to  the  will  of  the  Father  !" 

During  this  monologue  of  the  old  man,  as 
he  sat  with  his  ftice  turned  towards  the  set- 
ting-sun— fitting  emblem  of  his  life — the 
foldingHdoors  of  the  hall  parted  and  Count 


■•'3P* 


NAPOLEbN'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


79 


Dolgorof  entered.  In  spite  of  his  haughty 
step  and  imperious  look  flashing  from  be- 
neath his  lofty  brow,  his  whole  being  seem- 
ed bowed  down  with  grief  and  discomfort. 

"  I  have  to  speak  with  you  on  weighty 
matters,  father  Gregorius,"  he  began,  stepping 
up  to  the  old  man  to  prevent  his  rising  out 
of  the  chair.  "  We  must  seize  these  moments 
while  we  are  alone." 

Saying  this  he  drew  up  a  chair  a^  seated 
himself  opposite  to  the  'priest. 

"  The  times  are  serious,"  answered  Gre- 
gorius, slowly  shaking  his  venerable  head.' 

"  Before  discussing  matters  concerning 
the  country  and  other  public  affairs,  I  have 
something  to  say  which  concerns  myself 
alone.  The  strange  gentleman  who  accom- 
panies me  is  the  Prince  Ochalskoi,  a  Colo- 
nel in  the  army  of  our  sovereign.  I  wish  to 
betroth  my  daughter  Feodorowna  to  him ; 
but  she  is  repugnant  to  the  alliance,  and  en- 
deavors to  avoid  my  paternal  commands  by 
the  foolish  resolve  to  enter  a  convent  and 
take  the  veil.  You,  Gregorius,  possess  great 
influence  over  her  mind,  and  I  expect  from 
you  that  you  will  use  it  to  bring  her  back  to 
her  duty.^' 

The  priest  was  about  to  answer,  but  Dol- 
gorof. interrupted  him : 

"  Let  me  finish,  father.  You  do  not  know, 
perhaps,  how  much  I  have  sacrificed  in  these 
eventful  days  for  the  good  of  my  country. 
My  ardent  desire  of  occupying  an  important 
position,  to  obtain  offices  and  posts  of  honor, 
through  which  I  might  share  in  the  direc- 
tion of  public  affairs,  induced  me  to  put 
everything  at  the  hazard.  My  great  wealth 
is  shattered,  and  still  1  have  not  reached  the 
goal  which  was  to  remunerate  me  for  all  my 
losses.  My  daughter's  marriage  with  the 
Prince  would  effect  this.  Not  his  incalcula- 
ble riches  only,  but  his  powerful  connexions 
will  afford  me  the  means.  Yes,  I  am  already 
under  such  great  obligations  to  him  that  it 
is  only  through  his  influence  that  I  can  sus- 
tain the  position  which  1  now  occupy.  Her 
father's  honor  and  happiness  is  at  stake. 
You  will  now  be  able  rightly  to  comprehend 
w^hat  is  the  duty  of  Feodorowna.^  To  you, 
reverend  father,  I  look  for  succor.  She  has 
confidence  in  you.  I  might  use  coercion  ; 
but  i  would  gladly  avoid  resorting  to  any  ex- 
treme. I  am  fearful,  besides,  that  the  prince- 
ly pride  of  the  wooer  will  forbid  thus  ac- 
cepting a  bride  brought  to  his  arms,  pot  by 
choice  or  persuasion,  but  by  force — 'for  he 
loves  Feodorowna." 

Grregorius  observed  a  few  moments'  silence, 
and  then  answered  complacently  but  firmly  : 

"  It  grieves  me  much  to  see  father  and 
daughter  at  variance.  But  I  know  the  heart 
of  Feodorowna  ;  it  is  noble,  generous,  kind, 
and  good.  If  it  has  turned  to  love  holy  things  ; 


if  she  is  truly  minded  to  take  leave  of  tlus 
deceitful  world,  and  to  consecrate  her  days 
to  pious  retirement,  the  servant  of  the  Lord 
may  not  turn  her  steps  aside  from  this  safest 
and  purest  path  to  eternal  happiness." 

The  Count  rose  abruptly,  as  he  looked  at 
the  priest  with  fierce  and  rolling  eyes  : 

"  What !  Do  I  meet  with  opposition  from 
you  also  ?  Docs  it  belong  to  the  calling  of  a 
minister  of  religion  to  protect  and  encourage 
disobedient  children  ?  But  know,  that  if  you 
should  urge  matters  to  an  extremity,  I  will  do 
likewise,  and  the  issue  will  prove  whether 
the  obstinacy  of  a  girl,  even  when  seconded 
by  a  priest,  will  be  able  to  contravene  the 
will  and  determination  of  a  father." 

Gregorius  looked  earnestly  at  the  Count, 
but  without  anger. 

"  You  misunderstand  me  very  much. 
Count,"  he  answered,  "  if  you  believe  that 
I  would  countenance  or  protect  a  daughter's 
disobedience  against  her  father.  It  is  rather 
the  reverse ;  for  I  intend  to  examine  her, 
whether  she  does  act  indeed  in  obedience  to 
the  command  of  her  Heavenly  Father.  You 
will  not  dispute  that  His  claims  are  superior 
to  yours." 

The  Count  compressed  his  lips  in  anger, 
but  kept  silence.  He  walked  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  hall  for  some  time,  while  Gregorius 
remained  quietly  seated  in  his  chair,  with 
grave,  pious  aspect,  as  the  glowing  refrac- 
tion of  the  evening-sky  shone  around  his  sil- 
vered locks.  Dolgorowstopped  before  him 
and  said  with  forced  composure  : 

"  Be  reasonable,  Gregorius,  comply  with 
my  wishes.  Remember  that  there  are  many 
things  which  you  will  have  to  ask  for  at  my 
hands.  You  wish  to  have  new  decorations 
for  your  church ;  these  shall  not  only  be 
granted,  but  far  surpass  your  expectations. 
The  sacred  structure  shall  be  built  entirely 
new  from  the  foundation.  The  image  of  the 
holy  Virgin — " 

"  Would  you  bribe  the  Lord  of  heaven 
and  earth  ?"  answered  Gregorius  with  a 
smile.  "  Oh !  sir  Count — for  thirty  years  have 
I  lived  on  this  estate  under  your  government, 
and  yet  you  know  me  so  imperfectly.  Your 
father—" 

"  Enough !"  interrupted  the  Count,  moodily. 
"  I  did  hope  to  gain  my  object  by  gentle 
means  ;  but  your  stubbornness  compels  me 
to  use  harshness.  Well,  then,  you  may  have 
your  wish,  and  Feodorowna  may  make  the 
experiment  whether  she  possesses  power  to 
resist  her  father,  who  is  irrevocably  resolved 
upon  this  marriage." 

"  The  choice'of  a  husband  depends  upon 
you,"  answered  Gregorius  ;  "  but  her  will  is 
still  left  free,  whether  she  will  ■  remain  a  vir- 
gin and  take  the  veil  of  the  convent — for  she 
was  born  free,  and  not  your  vassal." 


76 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;    OR, 


"  She  is — "  wildly  exclaimed  the  Count, 
still  more  exasperated  by  the  priest's  imper- 
turbable calmness,  but  stopped  suddenly 
short,  for  the  door  opened  and  the  Countess 
entered  the  room.  "  To-morrow  we  will 
speak  further  about  the  matter,"  he  said 
quickly,  and  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  rose  to  meet 
his  lady.  With  all  the  skill  of  a  courtier  he 
could  conceal  every  passion  of  his  soul  be- 
hind a  smiling  expression  of  features.  With 
the  easiest  manner  he  said  to  the  Countess  : 

"  Welcome,  my  love — welcome  to  these 
well-known  halls.  I  hope  that  the  many 
cares  which  even  now  beset  us  will  not  pre- 
vent our  being  right  happy  in  our  domestic 
quiet — for  a  few  days  at  least ;  for  our  du- 
ties will  not  allow  our  fjuest  and  myself  to 
stay  here  very  long." 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  answered  the  Countess, 
"  though  I  have  no  joyful  anticipations  of 
the  future  in  my  heart;  for  what  horrors  are 
not  in  store  for  our  country  in  the  course  of 
the  few  next  months — months  which  were 
wont  to  bring  us  nothing  but  pleasure." 

"  I  hope,  however,  that  the  winter  which  in 
this  country  is  so  severe  and  inclement 
will  this  time  become  its  best  safeguard. 
The  terrors  which  seem  ready  to  overwhelm 
Russia  are  more  dreadful  in  appearance  than 
in  reality  ;  the  enemy  has  no  idea  of  the 
walls  and  ramparts  behind  which  this  empire 
is  able,  for  seven  months  at  least,  to  defy 
every  attack.  We  may,  perhaps,  be  called 
upon  to  sacrifice  one  year's  harvest  and  ten 
year's  after-growth  of  our  boundless  forests, 
but  I  fear  no  other  mischief.  If  we  surrender 
our  soil  to  the  enemy  for  one  summer  season, 
it  will  in  the  next  give  back  the  loss  when 
manured  with,  their  blood.  The  great  con- 
queror of  nations  may  be  invincible  in  battle  ; 
it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  he  can  gather 
harvests  from  fields  of  sand  and  ashes,  or 
shield  his  warriors  under  the  bare  heavens 
from  our  wintry  blasts.  While  we  are 
speaking,  he  must  have  crossed  the  Niemen  ; 
it  is  his  Rubicon  ;  the  dazzling  fortunes  of 
Caesar  had  a  melancholy  conclusion.  Have 
yovL  not,  reverend  father,"  turning  to  Grego- 
rius,  "  also  a  stiong  hope,  that  Russia  will 
rise  victorious  out  of  this  contlict  ?" 

"  The  energy  of  her  people  and  the  grace 
of  her  God  will  preserve  her,"  answered  the 
priest.  "  If  every  community  will  treat  these 
invaders  of  our  sanctuaries  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  I  have  reason  to  expect  will  be  the 
coarse  pursued  by  the  flock  entrusted  to  me, 
the  host  of  Xerxes  would  not  have  power  to 
enslave  or  subdue  our  country." 

Prince  Ochalskoi  entered,  arrayed  in  the 
uniform  of  his  regiment.  Dolgorow  greeted 
him,  and  drew  him  immediately  into  conver- 
sation. 

"  I  am  much  pleased,"  he  proceeded,  "  tliat 


you  have  been  so  active  in  using  your  influ- 
ence with  the  people,  Father  Gregorius  ;  for 
one  of  the  main  reasons  for  my  visiting  my 
estates  at  this  juncture  is  to  consult  wiUi  you 
and  to  make  known  the  Emperor's  com- 
mands on  this  subject.  It  has  been  resolved 
in  General  Council  at  St.  Petersburg  that 
we  shall  let  the  enemy  enjoy  the  show  of 
victory  for  a  season,  in  order  to  render  its 
actual  possession  more  certain  to  ourselves. 
Our  armies  will  oflfer  resistance  only  in  cir- 
cumstances where  the  enemy  must  pur- 
chase every  advantage  at  an  enormous  sac- 
rifice. It  will  be  in  vain  for  him  to  hope  for 
a  battle ;  in  vain  for  him  to  exhaust  the 
strength  of  his  troops  in  unremitting  marches 
and  manoeuvres,  in  order  to  overtake  the 
phantom  of  conquest  ever  fleeing  before  him. 
He  will  nowhere  find  a  spot  for  his  weary 
soldiers  to  rest  upon  ;  nothing  but  a  waste, 
howling  wilderness  will  be  there  to  receive 
him,  until  dejection  and  finally  mutiny  shall 
dissolve  the  bonds  which  hold  army  and  com- 
mander together." 

"  Heaven  grant,"  said  the  Countess,  half- 
sighing,  "  that  the  plan  may  succeed — that 
so  many  and  great  sacrifices  may  not  be 
offered  in  vain." 

"  What  will  be  sacrificed,"  replied  Ochal- 
skoi, "  but  a  few  villages  and  towns,  which 
are  as  nothing  in  the  immeasurable  extent  of 
our  Empire  !  And  to  those  who  may  lose 
anything,  the  munificence  of  the  Emperor 
will  amply  make  it  up." 

"  But  where  is  Feodorovvna  ?"  enquired 
Dolgorow, who  had  alrcfidy  looked  towards 
the  door  several  times  with  an  unquiet 
glance.  "Go,"  he  said  to  a  menial  standing 
at  the  door,  "  and  announce  to  the  Countess 
Feodorowna  that  her  presence  is  desired  in 
the  hall." 

The  man  departed  and  returned  in  a  few 
minutes,  stating  that  there  were  some  young 
girls  from  the  village  with  the  Countess  in 
Iier  room. 

"  No  doubt  her  former  playmates,"  re- 
marked the  mother,  "  whom  she  has  already 
invited  to  visit  her." 

"  We  shall  have  to  wait  an  hour  longer, 
then,  I  suppose,"  said  Dolgorow  vexedly. 
"  At  all  events,  tell  the  Countess  that  we 
expect  her  presence  at  the  supper-table,  and 
see  to  it  that  supper  is  soon  served." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

Feodorowna   had   scarcely   entered    her 
chamber  before  she  sent  her  maid  to  call  in 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


77 


some  young  girls  who  had  beea  brought  up 
with  her  in  the  castle  as  her  playmates. 
The  lot  of  these  poor  girls  appeared  to  her 
very  sad  indeed,  for  after  having  partly  tasted 
of  the  happiness  derived  from  more  refiijed 
society  and  higher  attainments,  they  had  been- 
under  the  necessity  of  r^irning  to  a  vassalage 
and  servitude,  then  first  truly  galling,  and  to 
share  the  miserable  dwellings  and  scanty 
comforts  of  their  parents.  She  therefore 
remembered  with  strong  affection  these 
companions  of  her  childish  days,  with  whom 
she  had  spent  many  an  hour  of  unalloyed 
pleasure  and  innocent  joy.  They  were  three 
daughters  of  peasants  with  whom  she  had 
grown  up — by  name  Kathinka,  Olga,  and 
Axinia,  all  about  Feodorowna's  own  age, 
good  creatures,  but  almost  lost  by  that  nar- 
row, humbling,  degrading  servitude  which 
is  forced  upon  vassals  on  a  Russian  estate. 
They  received  therefore  tiie  caresses  of  Feo- 
dorowna  and  the  presents  which  she  had 
brought  with  her  with  a  demure  and  abject 
show  of  humility  and  fear,  without  ventur- 
ing to  manifest  any  emotions  of  pleasure  and 
gratification.  Axinia,  however  exhibited  a 
deep  state  of  feeling  ;  she  was  more  grate- 
ful for  the  love  than  for  the  gifts  bestowed 
upon  her;  but  the  tears  which  ^watered  her 
ciieeks  seemed  to  indicate  something  differ- 
ent. Some  secret  grief  seemed  to  weigh 
upon  her  mind.  Feodorowna,  enquiring 
with  much  interest  into  tlie  circumstances 
of  each  one,  sought  also  to  ascertain  the 
cause  of  Axiiiia's  sorrow.  But  the  bashful 
girl  only  looked  down  on  the  ground ;  her 
tears  flowed  more  abundantly,  but  she  re- 
mained silent. 

The  servant  entered,  bringing  the  sum- 
mons to  appear  at  the  supper-table. 

"  Do  they  expect  me  already  ?"  asked 
Feodorowna. 

"  His  Excellency,"  replied  the  servant, 
making  a  profound  reverence,  "  has  at  least 
given  orders  to  serve  up  without  delay." 

"  Tell  my  father  that  I  will  cqpie  directly," 
answered  Feodorowna,  motioning  to  the 
menial  to  go.  "  I  must  now  dismiss  you," 
she  said  to  the  girls,  "  but  come  to  me  again 
very  early  to-morrow  ;  and  I  hope  thus  to 
see  you  every  day,  all  the  time  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  remain  here." 

The  girls  departed  ;  but  Axinia  delayed,  as 
if  she  had  something  pressing  on  her  mind. 

"  Dost  wish  for  anything  more,  my  dear  ?" 
asked  Feodorowna,  observing  the  counte- 
nance of  the  girl,  and  taking  her^hand  in  a 
friendly  manner. 

Axinia  was  unable  to  answer  by  reason 
of  her  tears  ;  she  trembled  visibly. 

'•  Wilt  thou  not  confide  it  all  to  me  alone  ?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  answered  the  weeping  girl 
vehemently. 


"  Well,  then,  come  to-morrow  morning, 
or  if  thou  canst,  wait  for  me  here  in  my 
room  till  after  supper.  It  is  so  light  now 
through  the  whole  night,  and  Kathinka  will 
inform  thy  father  that  thou  wilt  come  home 
at  a  later  hour." 

Thankfully  Axinia  seized  the  hand  of  her 
benefactress,  kissed  it  most  passionately,  and 
in  scarce  audible  accents  begged  leave  to 
remain.  Feodorowna  hastened  down,  that 
her  father  might  not  have  to  wait.  She 
entered  the  hall,  where  the  supper-table  was 
already  prepared.  The  father  listened  to 
her  apology  for.  her  delay  in  gloomy  silence. 
Ochaiskoi  addressed  her  with  a  few  polite 
phrases  in  that  cold  measured  tone  which  is 
always  a  better  criterion  of  what  is  felt,  than 
the  words  themselves  convey.  They  sat 
down  to  table  ;  the  conversation  was  con- 
strained and  carried  on  in  monosyllables. 
The  disagreeable  feeling  incident  to  a  differ- 
ence existing  between  those  present  froze  up 
all  free  and  cordial  intercourse  in  the  breast. 
Even  Gregorius  was  unable  to  respond  to  the 
affectionate  approaches  of  his  pupil  with  that 
unembarrassed  cheerfulness  which  usually 
prevailed  between  them  ;  for  his  feelings  had 
also  been  saddened  by  the  conimunications 
of  the  father.  The  supper  was  therefore 
speedily  dispatched,  and  the  party  separated 
as  frigidly  as  they  had  been  sitting  together. 
Gregorius  took  his  leave ;  the  old  man  bid 
Feodorowna  a  tender  but  sorrowful  good- 
night. She  was  moved  by  his  pitying  looks, 
which  she  rightly  interpreted.  She  looked  up 
to  heaven,  reflecting  how  all  her  painful  trials 
originated  with  those  parents  to  whom  she 
all  her  life  had  manifested  only  the  most 
devoted  love,  and  for  whose  sake  she  had 
made  a  thousand  self-sacrifices  !  To  con- 
ceal her  tears,  she  retired  in  the  deep  recess 
of  a  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  land- 
scape, which  still  glowed  in  the  half-subdued 
purple  tints  of  the  evening  sky — the  sun  in 
these  northerly  latitudes- scarcely  dipping  his 
disk  beneath  the  horizon,  so  that  the  evening 
and  morning  auroras  blend  as  it  were 
together  and  illumine  the  whole  of  the  warm 
nights  of  June  by  their  roseate  hues.  The 
river  pursued  its  silent  course  between  the 
hilly  banks  ;  two  fishing  boats  lay  gently 
rocking  on  its  rippling  surface ;  an  eagle 
sailed  majestically  with  wide  expanded  wings 
high  above  the  forest-lops  of  the  opposite 
shore ;  the  towers  of  the  fortified  castle  of 
Smolensko  rose  like  black  basalt  pyramids 
out  of  the  sea  of  molten  gold  which  over- 
flowed the  horizon.  A  solemn  stillness 
reigned  througho«t  the  entire  landscape. 
Feodorowna  gazed  sadly  across  the  fields 
and  meadows  in  which  she  had  played  and 
frolicked  in  the  days  of  her  childhood. 

"  Ah  !"  she  sighed  to  herself,  "  is  ray  heart 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;    OR, 


an  exotic  on  this  soil  ?  Has  it  not  been  nurtur- 
ed from  its  bounty  ?  Or  have  I  become  so 
^  spoiled  and  degenerated  through  the  influence 
of  gentler  manners  and  a  more  genial  sky, 
that  I  am  unfitted  for  the  rude  North  ?  The 
cradle  of  my  existence  does  not  look  smilingly 
upon  me  as  once  it  did,  but  seems  dark  and 
dismal,  as  if  preparing  to  become  my  grave. 
Is  there  then  nothing  true  and  enduring  in 
nature  ?  Are  not  the  most  hallowed  bonds 
changeable  and  deceptive  ?  Gracious  Father 
in  heaven,  forgive  me !  but  as  my  native 
soil  has  become  to  me  estranged  and  repul- 
sive ;  it  is  as  if  the  hallowed* well-spring  of 
life  had  become  troubled,  as  if  the  heart  of 
.the  child  no  longer  can  beat  in  unison  and 
freedom  with  that  of  her  parents  !  Cold  as  a 
serpent  does  this  thought  entwine  itself 
around  my  poor  heart !  Can  it  then  be  true 
that  there  remains  for  me  only  a  duty  dic- 
tated by  love,  but  that  its  living  roots  them- 
selves are  dead  and  decayed  ?  No,  no !  it 
can — it  must  not  be — it  is  nothing  but  the 
eternal  arch-enemy  who  essays  to  delude  me. 
Nature  is  holy,  true,  faithful ;  it  is  our 
heart  which  is  base  and  degenerate.  Holy 
mother  of  God  I  cleanse  and  purify  mine, 
breathe  back  into -it  that  once  sacred  love  in 
which  the  guileless  child  once  was  so 
happy." 

A  grand  and  love-inspired  resolve  had 
during  these  moments  ripened  in  her  soul ; 
she  would  cast  herself  in  supplication, 
repentance  and  tears  at  the  feet  of  her  father 
and  mother,  and  by  prayers  gain  from  their 
love  what  she  had  hitherto  determined  to 
i,  secure  by  her  own  firmness.  She  turned 
hastily  around  ; "  she  saw  that  the  hall  was 
deserted  ;  only  a  few  menials  remained  busy 
removing  the  remains  of  the  evening  meal. 
Her  parents — Prince  Ochalskoi — all  had 
already  departed  without  the  customary 
good-night ;  the  latter  probably,  because 
Dolgorowhad  taken  iiim  by  the  arm,  and  led 
him  to  his  own  room  to  have  a  secret  con- 
ference together.  Deeply  affected  by  a  pain- 
ful sense  of  finding  the  warm  and  swelling 
effusion  of  her  heart  thus  violently  checked, 
it  required  a  strong  effort  to  preserve  her 
outward  composure.  The  soothing  thought 
then  rushed  to  her  heart,  that  an  unfortunate 
fellow-being  was  waiting  for  her  to  alleviate 
^        her  sufferings. 

"  I  will  lovingly  take  her  to  this  wounded 
heart,  whatever  grief  or  trouble  may  assail 
and  torture  her ;  from  me  she  shall  meet 
with  nothing  but  that  love  and  sympathy 
after  which  I  myself  long  so  ardently  in 
vain." 

Filled  with  these  thoughts  she  ascended  to 
her  chamber  for  the  purpose  of  listening  to 
Axinia's  complaints. 
.  As  she  quickly  opened  her  chamber-door, 


her  nimble  step  bein|[  scarcely  audible,  she 
saw  the  girl  on  her  knees  in  fervent  prayer 
before  an  image  of  the  Virgin  which  stood 
in  a  niche  sunk  into  the  opposite  wall.  In 
order  not  to  disturb  the  fair  devotee,  Feo- 
dorowna  stood  fixed  on  the  threshold.  Ax- 
in  ia  was  kneeling  in  ^uch  a,  position  that  only 
one-half  of  her  profile  could  seen;  but  this 
was  radiant  with  a  magical  rosy  light  which 
fell  through  a  side-window  into  the  chamber. 
She  kept  her  alabaster  arms  raised  and 
her  hands  folded  towards  heaven  ;  the  head 
was  turned  up  to  her  celestial  patroness. 
Her  rich  brown  hair  hung  in  two  finely- 
plaited  tresses  over  her  bared  neck.  Feo- 
dorowna  noiselessly  closed  the  door  behind 
her  and  advanced  cautiously  a  few  steps,  so 
that  she  obtained  nearly  a  full  side-view  of 
the  girl's  countenance.  She  then  first  ob- 
served the  cold  chrystaUized  tears  which 
trembled  on  her  pale  cheek  to  which  even 
the  strong  rosy  reflection  of  the  evening  sky 
could  not  impart  a  more  joyous  complexion. 
Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  deep  but  silent 
sighs,  the  lips  moved  as  if  whispering  a  pray- 
er ;  the  eye  was  so  intently  fixed  on  the 
countenance  of  the  divine  mother,  her  soul 
so  fully  gone  forth  in  earnest  importunate 
supplication  Ihat  she  was  insensible  to  the 
approach  of  any  one,  even  when  Feodorowna 
stood  close  by  her  side.  It  was  not  until  she 
mildly  accosted  her,  by  saying :  "  Axinia, 
thou  prayest !"  that  she  arose  in  great  trepi- 
dation and  terror,  stood  trembling  before  her 
loving  mistress,  and  endeavored  abjectly  to 
stoop  down  and  kiss  her  hand. 

'•  No,  no,  not  so  !"  said  Feodorowna,  tak- 
ing her  lovingly  into  her  arms,  and  looking 
at  her  with  ineffable  kindness.  "  Be  again 
the  old  intimate  friend  and  playmate.  Un- 
burthen  thy  heart  to  me,  poor  thinor,  for  I 
perceive  that  thou  hast  some  deep  sorrow." 

"  Oh  !  you  will  spurn  me  from  you,  despise 
me  !"  <;ried  the  girl,  disengaging  herself  and 
wringing  her  hands  in  despair. 

"  Axinia,  what  aileth  thee  ?  "Bpeak,  tell  it 
to  me  ?"  said  Feodorowna  in  shuddering  an- 
ticipation. 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot !"  cried  the  unhappy 
girl,  covering  her  glowing  face  with  both 
hands ;  the  anguish  of  her  heart  almost 
depriving  her  of  breath. 

What  need  was  there  of  more  words !  Every 
feature  of  the  girl  dissolved  in  agony  and 
shame,  spoke  but  too  plainly. 

"Axinia,  thou  art  fallen? — Thou?"  said 
Feodorow»a,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  con- 
cern, but  not  reproachful. 

The  girl  as  if  crushed  by  an  avalanche, 
sank  to  her  feet. 

"  Crush  the  wretch  in  the  dust !"  she  cried 
wildly ;  "  Oh  !  have  pity,  and  let  me  suppli- 
cate no  longer    " 


I" 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RI;SSIA. 


79 


Feodorowna  stooped  down  towards  her 
compassionately,  and  tried  to  raise  her  up. 

"  Ob,  thou  unfortunate !  stand  up  and 
compose  thyself ;  thou  hast  sought  consola- 
tion from  me ;  I  will  not  spurn  thee  away 
from  me." 

"  No  !  let  me  lie  prostrate  at  your  feet," 
cried  Axinia,  as  she  buried  her  face  in  Feo- 
dorowna's  garments  and  clung  firmly  to  her 
knees. 

Feodorowna  laid  her  hands  upon  her  head 
as  if  in  benediction,  and  said  : 
.  "  May  God  be  <hy  judge  !  My  heart,  also 
liable  to  human  errors,  shall  not  condenm 
thee.  I  will  weep  with  thee,  will  lighten  thy 
trouble,  if  I  can.  Oh  !  thou  wast  so  good, 
Axinia,  thou  wast  kind  even  to  me ;  thou 
hadst  a  soft  affectionate  heart ;  it  cannot 
have  become  a  bad  one.  I  will  not  cast  thee 
off,  for  I  know  what  the  heart  of  the  wretch- 
ed pines  for.  Have  confidence  in  me  ;  stand 
up,  be  frank  and  tell  me  every  thing ;  it  is 
the  first  step  you  must  take  in  retrieving 
your  error." 

Axinia  slowly  raised  her  head  and  looked 
up  at  Feodorowna. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  gentle  and  kind  as  a  saint," 
she  exclaimed,  while  tears  streamed  from 
her  eyes.  She  covered  the  hand  with  kisses 
which  was  held  out  to  her  as  if  for  rescue, 
and  suffered  herself  to  be  raised  by  her  kind 
mistress,  for  her  trembling  limbs  almost 
refused  their  aid.  Feodorowna  led  her  to  a 
couch,  and  seated  herself  by  her  side. 

A  long  interval  elapsed  before  the  tumult 
in  Axinia's  breast  permitted  her  to  make  a 
confession  of  her  crime.  The  Count  had  in 
his  service  a  young  German,  named  Paul,  in 
the  capacity  of  gardener,  whom  he  had  highly 
favored.  This  young  man,  had  long  cher- 
ished an  attachment  for  the  pretty  Axinia,  to 
which  her  father,  Wasilof,  was  opposed,  as 
the  Count  was  absent,  and  his  approbation 
was  indispensable.  The  old  man,  the  father, 
also  entertained  scruples  because  Paul  pro- 
fessed the  Protestant  faith.  Axinia,  how- 
ever, had  in  the  meantime  bestowed  upon 
him  hep  warmest  affections,  and  they  had 
long  mutually  cultivated  their  secret  desires. 
At  the  approach  of  the  vernal  season,  which 
prompts  every  germ  with  a  sweet  impulse 
passion  in  these  young  hearts  became  too 

fowerful  for  the  strict  injunctions  of  duty, 
'aul,  in  whose  German  breast  the  abject 
sentiments  of  vassalage  could  not  take  root, 
believed  himself,  moreover,  possessed  of  an 
inherent  right  to  exercise  the  prerogatives 
of  a  free  man,  and  imagined  that  if  Axinia 
once  were  his  wife  by  the  ties  of  love,  the 
law  also  would  yield  to  his  wishes.  With 
reckless  importunity  he  urged  the  loving, 
yielding  maiden  ;  her  resistance  grew  weaker  I 
and  weaker,  and  finally  utterly  evaporated! 


in  the  sweet  intoxication  of  her  susceptible 
heart.  His  fervent  entreaties  and  burning 
kisses  gained  the  victory  over  her  tears,  her 
apprehensive  sighings.  She  awoke  only 
when  too  late  from  the  blissful  agony  of  her 
delirium,  and  then  with  horror  first  recog- 
nised the  true  aspect  of  the  deed,  and  became 
aware  of  the  adder  concealed  under  the  roses 
upon  which  she  had  reposed  in  her  dreams 
of  happiness. 

Her  heart  filled  with  mortal  anguish,  she 
closely  concealed  herself  in  her  father's  cot- 
tage, not  even  again  seeing  her  lover.  Anx- 
ious sleepless  nights  succeeded  to  days  of 
anguish.  Thus  passed  a  whole  month. 
Paul,  in  the  meantime,  wandered  about,  silent 
and  distracted.  The  intelligence  of  the 
Count's  speedy  arrival  inspired  him  with 
new  life.  He  resolved  to  disclose  every 
thing  to  his  master,  to  whom  he  was  much 
attached,  and  beg  the  beloved  from  his  hands. 
Mingling  with  the  crowd,  he  hastened  to 
meet  him,  indulging  a  rather  trembling  hope. 
The  first  thing  which  he  heard,  on  his  drawing 
near,  was  the  promise  given  by  Dolgorowto 
marry  his  beloved  Axinia  to  the  son  of  old 
Ivan.  He  knew  that  the  Count  never 
recalled  sueh  resolutions  and  promises.  In 
mortal  agony  he  hastened  to  Axinia,  who 
had  stayed  at  home,  sad  and  silent,  while  the 
rest  were  welcoming  the  returning  lord  and 
his  family  ;  for  she  dared  not  venture  to  pre- 
sent herself  before  the  eyes  of  her  much- 
loved  mistress.  While  Paul  yet  tarried  with 
Axinia  in  dumb  despair,  both  being  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  in  their  extremity,  the  message 
arrived  from  Feodorowna,  summoning  her  to 
attend  her  former  play-mate  at  the  castle. 
Impelled  by  the  strength  of  her  love,  and  the 
misery  which  every  moment  rendered  more 
imminent,  necessity  forced  her  to  act,  and  she 
resolved  to  disclose  every  thing  to  her  mis- 
tress, and  strengthened  by  the  hope  emana- 
ting from  this  resolve,  she  presented  herself 
.at  the  castle.  She  had  now  accomplished 
this  resolution,  and  her  mishap  had  met  with 
a  consoling,  soothing  sympathy,  and  her 
error  a  kind  forgiveness. 
■  When  Feodorowna  had  fully  heard  Axin- 
ia's confession,  she  endeavored  by  kind 
words  to  encourage  the  desponding  heart  of 
her  friend. 

"All  may  yet  be  well,  Axinia;  I  will  to- 
morrow morning,  as  early  as  practicable, 
entreat  my  father  to  give  his  consent  to  your 
marriage  with  Paul.  Some  recompense  will 
be  found  for  the  promise  given  to  old  Ivan. 
Should  my  father  think  like  myself,  he  will 
consider  the  promotion  of  your  marriage  with 
Paul  a  duty  from  which  he  cannot  absolve 
himself.  Now,  go  thy  way  home  and  to 
rest  in  good  hope ;  it  is  now  too  late  for 
to-day ;  but  quite  early  to-morrow  morning  I 


jiMLi 


80 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


will  send  for  Paul  and  speak  with  him  my- 
self. Now,  good  night ;  dry  up  thy  tears, 
Axinia ;  God  has  seen  thy  repentance  and 
thy  sorrow ;  he  will  forgive  thee ;  and  if 
thou  hast  endured  bitter  days  and  disconso- 
late nights,  believe  me,  thou  art  not  the  only 
unhappy  one  on  the  earth."  ^ 

Feodorowna  tuYned  quickly  away  after 
saying  these  words.  Covering  her  face 
with  her  handkerchief  she  sank  weary  and 
exhausted  on  the  pillows  of  her  couch. 
Axinia,  with  a  feeling  of  profound  gratitude, 
took  the  hand  of  her  mistress,  passively  hang- 
ing down  from  the  couch,  impressed  upon  it 
a  thousand  tearful  kisses,  and  then  silently 
left  the  room.  Every  thing  was  already 
hushed  in  the  building  ;  Jeanette,  the  wait- 
ing-maid, a  native  of  Alsace,  who  spoke  both 
German  and  French,  and  who  had  been  taken 
into  Feodorowna's  service  only  a  few  weeks 
previous  at  St.  Petersburg,  was  yet  in  the 
ante-room  waiting  her  mistress's  orders.  She 
accompanied  Axinia  to  the  gate,  which  the 
old  porter  opened,  gruff  and  grumbling 
though  he  did  it.  In  accordance  with  the 
regulations  of  the  house,  now  more  strictly 
enforced  as  the  master  had  returned,  all  the 
servants  and  menials  had  long  ago  retired  to 
their  respective  abodes.  However  gladly, 
therefore,  Axinia  would  have  imparted  the 
fortunate  turn  which  their  afikirs  had  taken 
to  her  lover,  knowing  how  surely  he  was 
anxiously  waiting  for  such  a  communication, 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  effect  it  now. 
Somewhat  frightened  by  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  she  speedily  trod  her  way  to  her  father's 
cottage  in  which  she  passed  the  first  night 
for  a  month  without  sitting  on  her  bed  in 
hopeless  misery  till  break  of  day. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

It  was  quite  late  before  slumber  visited 
the  weary  eyelids  of  Feodorowna  ;  she  di"d 
not,  in  consequence,  awake  till  the  sun  was 
already  far  advanced  in  his  diurnal  journey. 
On  ringing  the  bell  for  her  maid,  the  girl  en- 
tered, much  excited,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee,  Jeanette  ?" 
she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Ah,  gracious  Countess,  how  dreadfully 
do  they  abuse  people  in  this  country  !  the 
unfortunate  man  will  certainly  not  survive 
the  horrible  punishment!" 

"  Who  ?"  asked  J'eodorowna,  in  astonish- 
ment. "  What  has  happened  ?  Who  is 
abused  ?" 


Amid  sobs  and  tremblings,  Jeanette  sfiam* 
mered'out: 

"  The  Count  is  too  much  exasperated  ! 
Oh,  heavens !  if  such  a  thing  should  ever 

happen  to  me  ?     His  young  blood  is and 

forty  blows  of  the  knout !  He  sunk  to  the 
ground  pale  as  death,  only  on  hearing  the 
Count  give  the  command." 

Feodorpwna  felt  more  dead  than  alive. 

"  Who  ?  who  ?■'  she  cried,  as  if  beside 
herself,  and  recoiled  with  a  blanched  cheek 
on  Jeanette's  uttering :  ,    . 


"  Paul !' 


I 


The  girl  rushed  to, the  assistance  of  her 
mistress,  who  was  on  the  point  of  fainting 
away.  But  her  dizziness  was  only  momen- 
tary ;  she  collected  herself  by  a  strong  effort, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  Give  my  orders  immediately  to  the  peo- 
ple to  stop ;  I  will  be  responsible  !  Haste, 
quick,  before  it  is  too  late  !" 

Jeanette  flew  like  a  hunted  roe  through 
the  ante-room,  down  the  stairs,  and  into  the 
court-yard,  where  three  menials  were  already 
busy  tying  up  the  unfortunate  wretch  to  the 
whipping-post. 

Feodorowna  meanwhile  dressed  herself 
in  the  greatest  haste,  threw  a  shawl  over 
her  shoulders,  and  hastened  with  uneven 
steps  to  her  father,  for  she  already  guessed  at 
the  cause  of  this  new  misfortune.  She  found 
him  walking  up  and  down  in  his  room  in  a 
furious  state.  He  received  her  with  scowling 
looks  and  the  harsh  words : 

"What  wilt  thou?"  ' 

"  Pardon  for  the  unfortunate  man,  my 
father !  Oh  !  recall  your  precipitate  com- 
mand. It  was  not  your  humane  heart  which 
pronolinced  that  dreadful  sentence." 

"  Dost  know  his  crime  ?"  cried  the  Count, 
rolling  his  eyes  wrathfuUy.  "  All  these 
foreigners  are  hypocrites  and  traitors ;  the 
hour  has  arrived  when  vengeance  will  over- 
take them.  They  pretend  to  insist  that  our 
laws  do  not  apply  to  them  ;  they  shall  at 
least  learn  that  we  have  power  to  chastise 
them,  and  that  those  who  will  obey  no  law 
shall  also  enjoy  the  protection  of  no  law. 
Should  J  suffer  such  an  outrage  against  the 
sacred  person  of  the  master  to  go  unpunished, 
I  should  be  worthy  the  contempt  of  my  vas- 
sals. To  lift  his  hand  against  his  rightful 
master  !  It  was  wanting  only  that  a  daugh- 
ter who  denies  the  obligations  of  filial  obedi- 
ence should  stand  up  in  the  defence  of  a 
criminal  and  mutinous  menial !" 

Feodorowna's  courage  did  not  desert  her. 
However  much  alarmed  by  this  harsh  recep- 
tion, she  approached  her  father  with  the 
niost  affecting  appeals. 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  trespass  of 
the  unfortunate  man  ;  I  only  know  that  his 
punishment  is  cruel — it  is  terrible.     Have 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


the  milder  customs  which  you  have  witnessed 
in  other  lands  not  made  you  sick  of  the  cruel, 
inhuman  and  bloody  laws  which  hold  their 
sway  over  the  inhabitants  of  this  country  ? 
Besides,  I  was  already  determined  to  move 
your  heart  this  very  day  to  an  act  of  grace 
towards  this  unhappy  youth.  His  destiny  is 
linked  to  that  of — " 

"  I  believe  thou  art  in  league  and  concert 
with  my  lawless  and  incontinent  servants," 
cried  the  Count,  angrily.  "  So,  it  seems  that 
tliou  are  cognizant  of  the  crimes  here  com- 
mitted earlier  than  myself?  Who  has  dared 
to  make  my  daughter  a  confidant  of  a  crime 
which  ought  never  to  be  named  to  a  maiden's 
ear  ?" 

A  blush  of  anger  and  shame  rose  to  the 
cheek  of  Feodorowna.  She  was  about  an- 
swering in  the  full  dignity  of  a  conscious 
rectitude,  but  quelled  the  rising  ebullition, 
and  said  gently : 

"  The  playmate  of  my  childhood,  dearest 
father,  the  unhappy  Axinia,  confided  to  me 
late  last  evening,  amid  tears  of  anguish  and 
despair,  the  nature  of  her  offence.  What 
can  be  more  natural  than  that  she  should 
wish  to  pour  the  sorrows  of  her  heart  into 
the  bosom  of  sisterly  affection  ?  No,  my 
father,  you  cannot  be  so  unjust  toward  your 
daughter  as  to  throw  any  injurious  suspicion 
upon  her !" 

While  speaking  these  words,  Feodorowna 
looked  so  grieved  at  her  father,  with  her 
moist  and  liistrous  blue  eyes,  that  even  he 
in  his  stern  anger  could  not  resist  a  gentler 
emotion.     With  great  seriousness  he  said : 

"  I  might  possibly  have  pardoned  the  au- 
dacity and  folly  of  the  young  man,  being  a 
stranger,  for  so  lightly  esteeming  the  honor 
of  one  of  Russia's  daughters  as  to  trample  it 
under  foot,  if  with  humility  and  at  the  proper 
season  he  had  confessed  his  offence.  Why 
suffered  he  me  yesterday  to  give  my  word  ? 
Have  I  ever  forfeited  it  even  to  the  meanest 
of  my  vassals  ?  Should  I  ever  dare  to  do 
such  a  thing  without  blushing  for  myself? 
The  lad,  however,  in  cowardly  consciousness 
of  his  guill,  dared  not  acquaint  me  with  his 
delinquency  by  writing  to  St.  Petersburg,  as 
he  misrht  have  done.  And  this  morning 
quite  early  he  comes  to  me  like  a  madman, 
imperiously  demanding  what  he  ought  to 
have  petitioned  for  in  deepest  humility  and 
contrition ;  and  on  my  stern  refusal  he  throws 
himself  upon  me  like  a  savage  beast,  and 
threatens  to  take  my  life  with  that  knife 
yonder !" 

Dolgorowhere  pointed  to  a  garden-knife 
lying  on  the  table. 

"Oh,  pardon  the  delirium  of  a  desperate 
man,"  entreated  Feodorowna,  "  and  crown 
the  work  of  mercy  by  a  still  nobler  act  of 
humane  compassion  !" 
6 


"  Enough  !"  answered  the  Count,  sternly  ; 
"  let  what  is  past  take  its  course  !  She  is 
indeed  an  amiable  daughter  who  wishes  to 
see  the  murderer  of  her  father  rewarded  for 
his  deed !" 

"  Oh,  God  of  mercy  and  power !"  cried 
Feodorowna,  wringing  her  hands  in  despair ; 
"  must  this  shocking  inhumanity  then  be  per- 
petrated !  And  my  prayers  cannot  save  the 
unfortunate  wretch !  Father !  father !  there 
is  a  God  in  heaven ;  he  will  one  day  judge 
you  as  you  have  judged  others !  What 
mercy  can  you  hope  for  when  you  steel  your 
heart  against  all  compassion  !  Oh,  land  of 
horrors !  where  despotism  bears  ruthless 
sway !  Father,  listen  to  the  prayers  of  your 
daughter ;  extend  the  divine  prerogative  of 
mercy !" 

Feodorowna,  with  her  arms  raised  in  a 
supplicating  attitude,  stood  pale  and  trembling 
before  her  father,  and  was  about  sinking  to 
his  feet,  when  a  female  voice  was  heard  outr 
side,  and  immediately  after  Axinia  rushed  in 
with  dishevelled  hair. 

"  Let  me,  let  me !  I  must,  T  must !"  she 
cried  in  wild  accents,  tearing  herself  away 
from  the  servants,  who  endeavored  to  keep 
her  back  ;  and  then  throwing  herself  at  the 
feet  of  Dolgorowshe  cried,  while  embracing 
his  knees : 

"  Mercy  !  mercy !" 

Her  voice  was  choked  by  breathless  anx- 
iety ;  she  pressed  her  face  violently  against 
the  .feet  of  her  master,  who  looked  at  her 
only  the  more  sternly,  aiid  though  feeling 
himself  in  the  wrong,  was  yet  too  proud  to 
give  ear  to  the  voice  of  humanity. 

"  Trouble  me  not,  shameless  wench  !"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Thank  my  kindness  that  I  am 
willing  to  hide  thy  disgrace  by  an  honorable 
marriage !" 

Axinia  relaxed  her  hold,  and  feebly  disen- 
gaging her  arms,  raised  her  pale,  despairing 
countenance  ;  she  then  first  observed  Feodo- 
rowna. 

"  Oh  !  intercede  for  me— pray  for  me  !" 
she  said  faintly,  endeavoring  to  crawl  to  her 
upon  her  knees,  but  sunk,  her  face  down- 
wards, exhausted  on  the  floor. 

Feodorowna  struggled  with  a  fearful  reso- 
lution ;  her  bosom  heaved  and  trembled  like 
an  aspen-leaf.  Finally  she  approached  her 
father  with  tottering  steps. 

"  Father  '"  she  cried,  "  show  mercy  !  I 
will,  I  must !  Oh  !  on  this  bench  of  torture 
the  '  yes'  is  extorted  from  me  !  Well,  then, 
be  it  so  ! — the  rescue  of  two  innocent  victims 
is  at  stake  !  I  cannot  suffer  them  to  bleed — 
I  dare  not  do  it.  Grant  them  pardon — and  I 
am  Ochalskoy's  wife !" 

More  her  overstrained  powers  did  not  per- 
mit her  to  utter ;  like  a  corpse  she  sank  in- 
sensible into  Dolgorow'sarms. 


f» 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDIED  AND  TWELVB;  OR, 


He  let  her  gently  down  into  a  chair,  and 
then  rang  the  biell. 

"  Go  down  into  the  court-yard  and  let  the 
gardener  Paul  be  cast  loose ;  his  punishment 
is  deferred  for  the  present,"  he  cried  to  the 
servant.  "  Call  the  Countess's  maid  at  the 
same  time  ;  she  is  taken  unwell."  V 

Feodorowna  sat  motionless,  her  head  lean- 
ing backward  in  the  chair,  her  white  arms 
passively  hung  down,  her  azure  eyes  hid  be- 
neath the  closed  eye-lids.  Axinia  still  lay 
on  the  ground  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  A 
tiger  would  have  been  moved  by  this  spec- 
tacle of  heart-rending  misery,  this  touching 
image  of  self-devoted  suffering.  But  the 
shaft  recoiled  from  the  cold  and  hardened 
breast  of  Dolgorowas  if  encased  in  steel 
armor — his  sensibilities  and  better  impulses 
being  blunted  and  obliterated  by  the  con- 
taminating heartlessness  prevalent  among- 
the  higher  classes,  which  froni  his  youth  had 
poisoned  and  indurated  his  soul. 

"  It  will  pass,"  he  thought  to  himself  with 
indifference ;  for  the  sufferings  of  Feodo- 
rowna appeared  to  him  as  nothing  more  than 
the  folly  of  a  visionary  ;  and  Axinia's  misery 
affected  him  not  in  the  least,  belonging  as 
she  did  to  a  class  of  beings  whom  from  a 
child  he  had  looked  upon  as  mere  machines. 
He  was  now  exceedingly  rejoiced  that  this 
occurrence  had  been  the  means  of  removing 
the  obstacles  which  no  longer  ago  than  yes- 
terday stood  immoveably  in  the  way  of  the 
success  of  his  plans.  He  hastened  there- 
fore, to  find  OchalAoi,  in  order  to  acquaint 
him  with  what  had  just  taken  plaice,  and  left 
Jeanette,  who  had  just  entered,  to  take  care 
of  her  mistress.  The  latter  soon  re-opened 
her. eyes,  and  shortly  assisted  the  maid  in 
calling  Axinia  back  to  life.  When  the  girl 
finally  awoke  from  her  swoon,  she  looked 
wildly  around,  her  eyes  appearing  to  follow 
some  object  she  was  unable  to  name.  At 
first  the  consolatory  addresses  of  Feodorowna 
were  spoken  to  deaf  ears,  but  at  lengtli  she 
was  enabled  to  comprehend,  as  Feodorowna 
said  to  her : 

"  Compose  thyself,  Axinia  ;  the  frightful 
dream  is  past;  thou  wilt  be  happy  !" 

The  tortured  girl,  on  hearing  this,  sank 
into  the  arms  of  her  benefactress,  who  ex- 
tended them  to  receive  her,  and  pressed 
her  affectionately  to  her  heart. 

"  Thou  wilt  be  happy,  Axinia,"  she  cried 
once  more :  "  but  thou  little  knowest  at  what 
price  !"  was  secretly  re-echoed  in  her  own 
breast. 

Long  did  they  keep  each  other  in  a  close 
embrace ;  the  deluge  of  sorrow  and  bliss 
which  had  buoyed  up  their  hearts,  had  also 
overflowed  and  obliterated  every  barrier 
separating  their  conditions  in  life,  and  they 
embraced  like  those  saved  from  shipwreck. 


But  Feodorowna's  strength  was  once  tnore 
deserting  her. 

"  Oh,  conduct  me  to  my  room !  I  am 
utterly   exhausted !"   she    uttered,    entreat- 

ingly- 

Jeanette  and  Axinia  led  her  slowly  and 
cautiously  to  her  chamber,  where  she  found 
the  solitude  and  rest  which  enabled  her  to 
contemplate  the  issue  of  the  tangled  web  of 
her  destiny  with  a  steadier  and  clearet 
vision. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  solemn  betrothal  was  to  be  celebrated 
forthwith.  The  proper  nuptials  must  be  de- 
layed for  some  time,  on  account  of  some  in- 
dispensable formalities  ;  and  it  had  to  be  de- 
termined by  the  course  which  events  might 
assume  when  this  festivity  could  most  appro- 
priately be  consummated.  Her  father  enter- 
tained no  fears  lest  Feodorowna  might  re- 
tract, for  he  well  knew  that,  from  principle, 
she  held  a  given  promise  to  be  too  sacred  a 
thing  to  be  infringed  upon  under  any  pretext 
whatever. 

DolgorowandOchalskoi  went  to  wait  upon 
the  Countess,  and  impart  the  news  to  her, 
for, "being  habitually  a  late  riser,  she  as  yet 
knew  nothing  of  what  had  taken  place,  but, 
as  may  easily  be  conjectured,  was  very  much 
rejoiced  at  the  information. 

In  the  meantime  Feodorowna  had  spent  a 
sorrowful  hour  with  Axinia  in  her  room, 
when  the  girl  first  learned  the  whole  chain 
of  circumstances  which  had  brought  about 
the  interview  with  her  father.  In  order  to 
inform  Paul  of  what  Feodorowna  designed 
to  do  for  them  both,  she  had  sought  to  speak 
with  him  from  the  earliest  hour  of  morning, 
but  without  succeeding. 

She  was  about  setting  out  for  the  casflo 
the  third  time  as  the  overseer,  who  was  Paul's 
bitter  enemy,  standing  in  the  outer  gate,  was 
communicating  with  scornful  expression  the 
intelligence  of  Paul's  impending  punishment 
to  those  around  him. 

No  sooner  had  she  comprehended  the  dread- 
ful import  of  this  information,  which  she  im- 
mediately suspected  was  connected  with  het 
own  fortunes,  than  she  beheld  Paul  in  the 
court-yard  tied  up  to  the  post  of  torture. 

To  iiave  seen  this,  then  to  fly  up  the  mar- 
ble step  of  the  castle,  to  press  frantically 
through  the  crowd  of  menials  to  the  Count's 
own  room  and  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet, 
was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Fortunately 
Jeannette  had  arrived  at  the  right  time  wilt»% 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


83 


Feodorowna'e  orders  to  postpone  the  punish- 
ment. 

Paul  was  now  untied  and  conducted  into 
a  small  room  used  for  the  confinement  of 
prisoners.  Axinia  had  at  first  some  fears 
respecting  him,^ut  Feodorowna  solemnly 
assured  her  that  there  was  nothing  more  to 
fear.  At  the  same  time  she  sent  down  the 
order  by  Jeanette  that  Paul  should  immedi- 
ately be  set  at  liberty  and  brought  into  her 
presence. 

Dolgorowsent  to  request  his  daughter  to 
attend  him.  She  went  crushed,  but  yet  com- 
posed— pale,  but  without  tears.  The  parents 
were  alone.  Her  father  was  more  compla- 
cent than  usual,  and  the  mother  also  appear- 
ed kind. 

"  Thou  wilt  now  yield  obedience  and  com- 
ply with  our  wishesf  Feodorowna  ?"  she  said 
in  a  mild  tone.  This,  for  several  months, 
was  the  first  expression  of  love  from  the  mo- 
ther's heart — a  parent  so  ardently  beloved 
and  revered  by  the  daughter. 

"  Yes,  my  mother,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  am 
ready  to  sacrifice  the  happinetss  of  my  life  to 
a  duty  from  which  nothing  can  absolve  me. 
But  f  make  it  an  indispensable  condition  that 
I  shall  have  full  liberty  to  dispose  of  those 
two  unfortunate  persons." 

"It  is  granted,"  said  Dolgorow  almost  with 
an  expression  of  kindness. 

"  I  must  stipulate  for  a  second  condition," 
continued  Feodorowna.  The  step  which  I 
am  about  to  take  I  must  be  allowed  to  carry 
into  effect  with  perfect  composure  and  wo- 
manly dignity.  I  will  not  venture  to  appear 
before  my  future  husband  with  the  distorted 
features  of  sorrow  and  pain  ;  for  my  looks 
would  too  strikingly  contradict  the  assent 
which  my  lips  would  have  to  utter.  It  would 
offend  him,  and  I  do  not  wisb  t6  do  that — for 
from  the  moment  that  I  select  him  for  my 
husband  he  is  entitled  to  my  respect.  I  re- 
quest, therefore,  to  be  allowed  the  space  of 
three  days,  in  which  to  school  my  heart  and 
to  gather  up  my  broken  senses.  The  pious 
counsels  of  father  Gregorius  will  stand  me 
in  stead  In  this  painful  conflict.  With  the 
rising  of  the  fourth  sun  from  this  time  I  shall 
be  ready  to  interchange  the  ring  of  betrothal 
with  the  Prince.  Until  then  I  beg  to  be  left 
in  my  solitude." 

"  This  also  is  granted  thee,"  said  the  fa- 
ther. "  Thou  knowest  that  thy  father  and 
mother  have  always  loved  thee,  and  nothing 
but  thy  stubborn,  incomprehensible  disobedi- 
ence could  ever  turn  their  hearts  away  from 
thee." 

Feodorowna  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven 
and  sighed  deeply.  Oh,  how  gladly  would 
ahe  have  given  credit  to  these  words !  but 
she  felt  it  to  be  impossible,  for  they  were  too 
much  belied  by  acts.     How  were  it  possible 


for  truly  kind  and  loving  parents  to  consign 
their  child  to  vears,  yea,  a  life-time  of  silent 
suffering  ?  ifiesides,  there  were  no  looks  of 
love  to  be  discovered  in  their  countenances 
or  ey^s — only  mocking  words  of  dead  forp 
mality  dictated  by  selfish  policy. 

Feodorowna  returned  to  her  room. 

She  found  Paul  in  the  ante-room.  He  was 
pale,  and  looked  much  troubled,  for  he  had 
been  too  rudely  tossed  about  on  the  raging 
storm  of  angry  passions  and  soul-harrowing 
anxieties  to  gather  hope  and  courage  at  once 
from  the  dawning  of  a  milder  sky.  He  now 
received  new  life,  as  it  were^  from  the  assu- 
rance which  Feodorowna  gave  him  that  his 
fate  rested  entirely  in  her  hands.  She  bid 
him  follow  her.  When  in  the  room  she  her- 
self led  him  tc  the  happy  and  blushing  Ax- 
inia. She  joined  their  hands  together,  and 
said : 

"  Be  happy  !  You  were  not  without  guilt, 
but  you  have  severely  atoned  for  it.  Conse- 
crate now  your  affections  by  the  holy  bonds 
of  matrimony.  But,  Paul,  when  that  is  done 
leave  this  country  and  return  to  thy  native 
clime.  Wo  unto  him  who  must  call  this  his 
father-land  !  Happy  is  he  who  knows  an- 
other home !  I  can  protect  you  no  longer 
than  while  I  am  here  among  you.  It  will 
probably  be  only  a  few  weeks.  As  soon, 
therefore,  as  the  way  is  open  for  you,  go  seek 
other  lands  where  milder  laws  rule  alike  over 
all.  ,  Now  leave  me  .  Go,  and  may  you  be 
happy  !" 

She  turned  away  to  conceal  the  pains  which 
this  interview  gave  her. 

Axinia,  taking  her  hand,  said  timidly,  but 
with  an  expression  of  the  tenderest  affection  : 

"  Have  you  really  forgiven  me  everything? 
Oh,  do  I  deserve  it  ?  Oh,  look  at  me  kindly 
once  more !" 

Feodorowna  turned  round.  She  looked  at 
her  through  her  tears  with  a  friendly  smile  : 

"  Thy  heart  is  pure  and  undefiled  !  To 
those  who  love  for  the  sake  of  love  much  is 
forgiven.  I  freely  forgive  thee  all.  And  if 
the  bloom  of  thy  happiness  could  spring  up 
from  my  grave,  I  would  bless  thee  out  of  the 
cold  and  silent  tomb  !     But,  go — go !" 

Silently  they  left  the  room. 

"  Heavenly  Protectress  !  Thou  gracious 
mother  of  God,  who  hast  the  power !"  Feo- 
dorawna  now  breathed,  bending  the  knee 
before  the  image  of  the  Virgin  ;  "  grant  me 
comfort  and  strength. .  I  put  my  trust  in  thy 
blessed  mercy  and  grace  !  Thou  wilt  not 
leave  me  alone  in  this  cold  and  dismal  night 
of  existence.  The  rays  from  thy  gentle  brow 
will  illumine  my  path,  even  should  the 
whole  heavens  be  shrouded  in  blackness  and 
wrath  !" 

A  comforting  calm  entered  her  heart  after 
this  prayer.      She   accepted  it  thankfully, 


M 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


blessing  the  band  whicb  is  able  to  heal  our 
deepest  wounds — the  eye  which  never  loses 
sight  of  us  even  in  the  darkest  recess  of  the 
abyss.  A  ray  of  light  seemed  •  to  pierce 
through  the  black  cloud  of  her  future  and 
kindled  a  feeble  spark  of  hope  in  her  soul. 

"Despair  not,"  a  voice  seemed  to  say; 
"  even  when  thou  canst  see  no  outlet  nor 
path  that  may  lead  to  a  happy  goal.  The 
heavens  in  serene  and  eternal  purity  still 
dwell  behind  the  cloudy  veil.'  A  breath  of 
the  Almighty  disperses  the  clouds,  and  above 
thee  stands  the  blue  unspotted  vault  with  the 
blessed  sun  dispensing  his  reviving  light  over 
thy  soul  forever." 

Feodorowna  stepped  to  the  window.  The 
earth  was  arrayed  in  her  gay  spring  gar- 
ments ;  even  in  this  northerly  wilderness 
they  imparted  the  graces  of  youth.  The 
river  sported  on  its  dark  blue  path  through 
the  green  fields  ;  the  J^rowns  of  the  fir-trees 
were  wafted  to  and  fro  by  gentle  zephyrs  ; 
the  singing  of  the  thrush  trilled  from'  the 
bushes ;  the  lark  carolled  m  t)»e  sky  over 
the  meadows  ;  the  swallows  careered  over  the 
mirror  of  waters  ;  the  flocks  hung  upon  the 
sharp  declivities  of  the  green  hills  which  de- 
scended into  the  stream  :  whithersoever  the 
eye  turned  all  was  pregnant  with  life,  joy 
and  goodness  !  The  solemn  tones  of  the  bell 
summoned  the  people  to  early  worship — for 
it  was  a  day  of  festival !  A  sweet  melan- 
choly took  possession  of  the  sufierer.  The 
dreams  and  images  of  her  youth  crowded 
with  their  wonted  mystical  power  around  her 
heart.  Gently  her  tears  began  to  flow. — 
Every  pearly  drop  which  escaped  from  her 
eyes  brought  relief  to  her  oppressed  breast. 
She  breathed  freer,  and  became  insensibly 
filled  with  an  increasingly  trusting  faith. 

"  God  is  near  unto  me !"  she  exclaimed, 
strengthened  and  joyful.  "  I  feel  His  blessed 
power  in  my  soul !  Take  courage  then, 
Feodorowna ;  thou  hast  done  according  to  His 
commandment ;  He  wiH  not  leave  thee  or 
forsake  thee !" 

Thus  strengthened  and  upheld  by  the  pow- 
er within,  she  resolved  to  go  to  the  ch«rch 
and  share  in  the  devotions  of  the  country- 
people. 

On  her  return  she  found  the  castle  in  great 
commotion.  The  horse  of  a  Cossack  which 
she  saw  tied  at  the  gate,  informed  her  while 
yet  at  a  distance  that  a  messenger  had  arriv- 
ed. It  was  not  long  before  her  father  came 
to  her  in  her  chamber,  and  said  : 

"  Thou  knowest,  my  daughter,  that  I  scru- 
pulously fulfil  my  promises;  but  I  come  at 
this  time  to  be  in  part  released  from  them  by 
thee.  Thou  hast  desired  three  days  in  which 
to  prepare  thyself  for  the  betrothal.  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  have  allowed  them,  but  a 
few  minutes  ago  an  express  arrived,  sent  to 


me  by  the  General,  with  letters  to  myself 
and  Prince  Ochalskoy.  The  enemy  has 
actually  passed  the  Niemen  and  is  rapidly 
advancing.  This  obliges  us  to  depart  for  the 
army  this  very  day.  My  departure  is  press- 
ing— that  of  the  Prince  is  necessary.  In 
Ruch  circumstances  thou  wilt  certainly  con- 
sent to  renounce  the  delay,  as  it  is  of  the  ut- 
most importance  to  me  to  see  a  family  affair 
settled  and  arranged,  at  least  as  far  as  may 
be  possible,  before  I  put  my  own  life  and 
your  future  husband's  at  the  hazard  of  war." 

Nothing  but  the  pious  and  resigned  frame 
of  mind  which  Feodorowna  had  been  enabled 
to  attain,  could  have  given  her  strength  to 
meet  her  father's  wishes.  Still  she  felt  an 
inward  shudder  that  struck  a  chilling  terror 
to  her  heart. 

"  If  it  must  be  so,"  she  said,  with  diflScul- 
ty,  "  I  am  ready  to  obey  ;  only  allow  me  one 
hour's  time  to  collect  myself,  my  father  I" 

"  Well  ;  in  the  meantime  we  will  make 
our  preparations  for  the  journey,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Every  minute  is  now  of  very  great 
importance.  I  will  send  for  thee  in  an  hour." 

So  saying  he  left  the  apartment. 

Feodorowna  sank  exhausted  into  a  chair. 
She  had  possessed  courage  to  rerionnce  her 
rights,  but  the  decisive  moment  drawing 
nigh  again  awoke  the  dreadful  struggle  ii> 
her  breast. 

"  There  is  yet  time  to  draw  back — this 
heart  may  yet  choose,"  she  cried,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  One  hour  hence  and  all  is  over  I 
No — it  is  already  over  with  thee,  for  thoti 
gavest  an  irrevocable  promise.  Fulfil,  then,, 
with  fortitude  the  duty  which  the  arm  of  the 
Almighty  lays  upon  thee.  He  alone  who 
crushes  thy  heart  has  power  to  heal  it  again. 
Put  thy  trust, in  Him  !" 

She  rang  her  bell,  and  Jeanette  appeared. 

''^Thou  must  dress  me  for  my  betrothal, 
my  dear,"  she  said,  feebly.  "  In  one  hour  I 
am  to  pronounce  the  decisive  word." 

She  trembled  violently.  The  girl  suspect- 
ed what  were  the  feelings  of  her  mistress. 
She  wept  in  silence,  while  performing  her 
little  offices. 

"  What  dress  do  you  wish  ?"  she  asked, 
when  Feodorowna  was  attired,  excepting  the 
last  garment. 

"  The  black  one — no,  the  white  one.  I 
am  in  mourning  for  no  one.  I  am  the  bleed- 
ing sacrifice  myself.  Oh,  that  I  were  a  bride 
whom  they  adorned  for  the  grave  1" 

Such  was  the  outcry  wrung  from  a  heart 
torn  by  excruciating  anguish.  She  sank  ex- 
hausted in  Jeanette's  arms,  and  wept  on  her 
bosom  in  overwhelming  sorrow. 

She  roused  herself  again,  and  directed  a 
look  of  devotion  toward  the  image  of  the  Vir- 
gin, which  just  then  was  illumined  by  a  ray 
of  the  sun 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


**  One  consolation,  one  hope,  remains,  how- 
ever, indestructible  in  my  breast,"  she  said, 
in  gentle  accents.  "  Why  then  should  I  de- 
spair ?  When  all  earthly  troubles  are  at  an 
end,  the  hour  must  come  when  thou  wilt 
bless  thy  child  with  imperishable  happiness  !" 

From  that  moment  she  became  calm.  She 
looked  beautiful  in  that  white  silkdress,  like 
a  lily  with  its  head  drooping.  Supported  by 
the  arm  of  Jeanette  she  glided  down  into 
the  hall.  The  parents,  Ochalskoi,  and  Gre- 
gorius,  were  already  there  in  waiting. 

"  I  wish  that  Father  Gregorius  would  bless 
my  betrothal,  even  if  it  should  not  be  custom- 
ary," was  Feodorowna's  last  request,  uttered 
in  a  raild  tone,  yet  so  as  to  allow  of  no  de- 
nial. 

Gregorius  spoke  a  few  words.  The  rings 
were  then  exchanged,  and  the  bride  silently 
admitted  the  embrace  and  the  kiss  from  him 
Co  whom  she  had  now  solemnly  given  herself 
away.  But  she  turned  pale  in  his  arms, 
fetched  a  sigh  and  sunk  insensible,  in  which 
state  she  had  to  be  carried  back  to  her 
chamber. 

She  was  left  to  the  care  of  her  mother, 
for  the  horses  were  already  icapatiently 
stamping  before  the  carriage  in  which  Dol- 
gorowandOchalskoi  immediately  set  out  for 
the  army. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  June  Rasinski 
with  his  regiment  joined  the  main  body  of 
the  army  which  the  Eraperor  Napdeon  com- 
manded in  person.  An  order  received  on 
die  march  had  accelerated  his  progress. 
The  other  detachmeats,  Regaard's  regiment, 
the  attilleiy  and  two  squadrons  of  Ijeavy 
cava.lry  could  not  advance  so  rapidly.  The 
sun  was  sinking  behind  the  blue  fcH-est  winch 
cncirclfed  the  western  horizon,  when  on 
ascending  an  eminence  the  French  army 
first  became  visible.  Dark  masses  of  troops 
covered  farther  than  the  eye  could  reach  the 
gentle  hollow  which  girts  the  chain  of  hills 
skirting  the  banks  of  the  Niemen,  and  bor- 
dering the  great  forest  of  Pilwisky.  Rasin- 
ski, with  Bernard  and  Louis,  whom  he  em- 
ployed as  orderlies,  were  about  a  thousand 
steps  in  advance  of  the  regimeoL 

"  Holy  God  3"  he  exclaimed,  "  What  a 
world  in  arms !  Look,  my  friends,  look  there ! 
Over  a  mile  extends  that  line  of  closely- 
nacked  columns;  and  from  that  other  side 
are  other  innumerable  masses  drawing  near. 
What  a  stupendous  mind  that  must  be 
which  can  uaite  the  strength  of  so  manyi 


thousands  into  one  focus  by  his  own  creative 
will !  You  will  find  every  dialect  of  Europe 
in  this  encampment.  From  the  dwellers  by 
the  Ebro  and  by  Vesuvius,  the  sons  of  the  Alps 
and  the  Pyrenees,  to  the  slavish  hordes  which 
inhabit  our  steppes,  every  city,  every  town 
and  village  has  sent  some  of  its  sons  hither. 
And  ali  with  glowing  enthusiasm  and  impUcit 
obedience  follow  the  steps  of  this  one  man- 
They  obey  him  and  have  faith  in  him,  as  if 
he  were  a  god  before  whom  men  bow  without 
comprehending  i  Look  at  that  splendid 
train  of  artillery  coming  up  that  hill !  I  esti- 
mate its  strength  a-t  four  or  five  hundred  field- 
pieces,  and  still  it  is  not  one-half  cf  what 
Napoleon  brings  to  hurl  destruction  into  the 
midst  of  the  hostile  ranks." 

Rasinski  stopped  his  horse  and  looked 
attentively  around. 

"  Here,  in  the  direction  of  those  three  pines, 
lies  Kowno;  it  will  probably  be  fiercely  de- 
fended by  the  Russian^ ;  there,  at  that  point 
you  will  see  the  road  from  Konigsberg,  which 
joins  our  road  in  the  underwood  before  us. 
That  small  place  below  by  the  wood,  is  Pil- 
wisky ;  that  pointed  steeple  farther  to  the 
left  belongs  to  the  little  town  of  Schirwindt. 
Observe  the  topography  of  this  ground  nar- 
rowly, my  friends,  for  1  may  have  to  dispatch 
you  this  very  night  to  both  of  these  places,  as 
I  suppose  the  staffis  quartered  there." 

While  Rasinski  was  thus  making  his  com- 
panions acquainted  with  the  features  of  the 
neighborhood,  his  regiment  bad  come  up.  He 
placed  himself  at  its  head  and  marched  in 
regular  order  towards  the  encampments. 

Before  he  had  reached  the  first  vidette,  a 
general  officer  came  galloping  to  meet  him  : 

"  I  am  ordered.  Colonel,"  he  said  to  Rasin- 
ski, *'  to  point  out  to  you  the  spot  where  you 
are  to  hivouac  with  your  regiment  for  the 
night.  Your  arrival  has  been  already  an- 
nounced. You  will  pitch  your  encampment 
on  that  hill  over  there,  next  to  the  Imperial 
Guard." 

Rasinski  imntediately  perceived  the  dis- 
tinctioi)  conferred  upon  himself  and  his 
troops  in  this  arrangement,  and  while  offering 
his  thanks  for  the  informatioH,  expressed 
his  satisfaction  in  lively  terms. 

The  regiment,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
general  officer,  now  proceeded  through  the 
midst  of  the  camp  towards  the  spot  desig- 
nated for  their  bivouac.  The  most  diversi- 
fied scenes  and  objects  were  observed  during 
this  march.  They  came  first  to  a  long 
train  of  heavy  artillery,  and  passed  long 
drawn-up  parks  oi'  ammunition  v/agons. 

"  These  are  the  iron  sinews  of  the  mon- 
ster," said  Louis  to  Bernard  as  they  rode  by. 

"  Or  rather  his  jaws,  breathing  fire  and 
death,"  answered  Bernard.  "  I  have  a 
strange  feeling,"  he  continued  after  a  few 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


moments.  "  While  entering  these  portals  of 
the  temple  of  War,  I  appear  to  myself  so 
little  and  insignificant,  I  atn  so  entirely  stript 
of  all  self-sufficiency  and  sense  of  power  to 
act,  that  I  seem  to  myself  a  mere  empty  nut- 
shell tossed  about  on  the  rolling  ocean. 
Nevertheless,  I  shall  find  some  capital  work 
here  for  my  sketch-book,  for  at  every  ten 
paces  I  see  some  characteristic  before  me, 
and  J  perceive  that  one  needs  only  to  ride 
through  a  military  encampment  to  become 
another  Philip  Wouverman — if  one  has  a 
pencil  by  him,  and  is  not  such  an  artist 
already  beforehand." 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  first  bivouac 
of  the  infantry,  and  could  leisurely  contem- 
plate the  several  groups  which  had  gathered 
around  the  camp-fires.  In  the  distance  was 
heard  the  half-intercepted  sound  of  music, 
playing  the  Marseilloise  Hymn.  Immedi- 
ately in  the  foreground  were  a  dozen  grena- 
diers extended  around  a  large  fire.  A  sap- 
per, with  a  bushy  beard,  was  industriously 
stirring  their  evening-meal  m  a  cainp-keitle. 
Every  instant  he  was  obliged  to  secure  his 
long  beard  from  the  shooting  flames  ;  some 
young  fellows  close  by  made  themselves 
merry  at  his  expense,  laughing  at  his  dilem- 
ma. One  with  a  bandaged  head  was  lying 
asleep  ;  his  comrades  had  furnished  him 
with  a  pair  of  prodigious  pair  of  moustaches, 
traced  out  with  charcoal.  Two  were  per- 
forming a  mock-light  with  their  fists.  The 
rest  were  sitting  or  lying  about  in  a  circle, 
looking  lazily  at  the  regiment  passing  by, 
without  it  seeming  to  attract  special  atten- 
tion from  those  accustomed  to  such  every- 
day events.  They  pointed  the  finger  uncer- 
emoniously to  any  thing  particular,  and  one 
fellow,  when  Bernard  looked  at  him  ratlier 
sharpfy,  made  up  a  face  at  him,  at  which  the 
others  set  up  a  hearty  kugh. 

A  few  paces  farther  was  another  group 
lying  about,  listening  very  attentively  to  a 
musical  genius  who  was  performing  on  a 
flageolet  the  old  romance  r  "  II  pleat,  il  pleut, 
berg^re."  This  favorite  little  ditty  seemed 
to  awaken  the  tender  passion  in  a  sergeant 
who  was  endeavoring  to  estaWigh  a  conver- 
sation with  a  pretty  sutler'^s  girl  behind  the 
circle  of  his  prostrate  comrades,  discoursing 
to  her  the  most  refined  gallantries  and  chuck- 
ing her  under  the  chin  with  a  certain  pater- 
nal benignity,  while  his  animated  eyes  be- 
trayed rather  a  warmer  inclination  for  the 
merry  vixen.  She  kept  nodding  her  head  in 
time  with  the  music,  not  paying  any  great 
regard  to  her  gallant,  only  now  and  then 
repulsing  his  caressing  hands. 

"  Love  is  at  home  every  where,"  said  Ber- 
nard, laughing;  "her  blossoms  thrive  even 
in  the  bivouac.  The  only  eternally  barren 
Boil  in  which  she  will  not  flourish,  is  my 


heart.  For  as  yet  I  cannot  exhibit  any  herb- 
arium worth  mentioning  of  the  shoots  of 
happy  love." 

Louis  said  nothing.  He  pursued  his  own 
gloomy  thoughts,  which  had  been  strongly 
aroused  by  Bernard's  words. 

"  Well,  thou  great  lout !"  cried  Bernard, 
somewhat  angrily,  for  a  large  heavy  dragoon 
with  his  black  horse-hair  streamer  hanging 
down  from  his  helmet,  mounted  on  a  real 
plough-horse,  rode  right  upon  him,  almost 
jerking  him  out  of  the  saddle. 

The  fellow  swallowed  the  "  loot"  without 
looking  about  him,   and  went  on  his  way. 

"A  shameless  cross-eared  ass  with  hia 
long  legs  thrown  over  that  great  awkward 
Norman  beast,"  grumbled  Bernard  ;  "  the 
fellow  made  a  regular  charge  on  me  with 
his  elephant." 

"Those  are  the  civilities  of  a  eamp," 
cried  the  laughing  Jaromir,  who  had  wit- 
nessed Bernard's  mishap.  "  Thou  wilt  have 
to  put  up  with  such  compliments  until  thou 
hast  learned  to  recrprocate  them." 

"Pah  !"  answered  Bernard,  "in  that  par- 
ticular I  was  born  a  master ;  I  compare 
rudeness  to  certain  echoes,  which  give  back 
the  sound  not  only  quadrupled,  but  also 
much  louder.  In  my  case  the  old  proverb  : 
'  As  you  shout  in  the  woods  so  il  will  shout 
to  you  back,'  is  not  properly  applicable,  for  I 
rejoice  to  see  a  raw  bumpkin  in  a  reflecting 
mirror  where  I  can  cut  him  out  an  ugly 
face." 

They  came  to  the  bivouac  of  the  cavalry, 
where  the  horses  stood  tied  to  long  out- 
stretched lines.  The  smart  stamping  and 
neighing  of  the  animals  much  enlivened  the 
scene.  One  of  them  tore  himself  loose  as 
the  regiment  was  trotting  by,  wishing  no 
doubt  to  join  the  brotherly  ranks ;  a  few 
dragoons  were  instantly  after  him  to  seize 
him,  but  he  kicked  furiously,  capsized  some 
camp-kettles  with  the  ready-cooked  suppers 
among  the  coals  and  ashes,  and  then  made 
off  with  splendid  bounces  and  caracols.  A 
battalion  of  infantry  lying  near  by  sef  up  an 
exuhing  laugh  at  this  ehase'  and  tried  to 
turn  the  animal  back  by  their  shouts.  The 
Polish  troopers  also  turned  their  heads 
towards  the  scene  and  laughed,  when  sud- 
denly the  loud  word  of  command  sounding 
from  Rasinski :  "  Right  dress  f  eyes  right  I" 
brought  them  back  into  the  tight  shackles  of 
discipline. 

It  was  to  a  French  general  that  Rasinski 
paid  this  tribute  of  military  deference.  He 
bestrode  a  superb  grey  l^rb,  whose  trim- 
mings and  sweat-cloth  were  richly  covered 
with  gold-embroidery  and  stitchings.  He 
answered  the  salute  by  slightly  raising  his 
hat,  and  as  they  defiled  past  he  fixed  his 
large  scrutinizing  eye  on  the  men.    The 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


87 


Athletic  figure,  the  sombre  fire  working  in 
his  eye,  the  severe  lines  on  his  high  fore- 
head, in  short,  the  tout-ensemhle  gave  him 
that  imposing  presence,  through  which  the 
soldiers  often  derive  the  most  unbounded 
confidence  in  their  leader.  The  men  all 
along,  too,  stood  reverently  still,  keeping 
themselves  in  strict  disciplinarian  order  until 
he  passed  by. 

Louis,  on  whom  this  figure  had  made  quite 
an  impression,  said  in  a  whisper  to  Boles- 
laus,  who  was  riding  at  his  side  : 
"Who  is  that  general  ?" 
"  Marshal  D^ivoust,  the  Prince  of  Eck- 
muhl,"  answered  the  latter  with  a  grave  and 
important  mien,  which  indicated  the  respect 
which  he  also  entertained  for  this  celebrated 
soldier. 

"  Marshal  Davoust !"  repeated  Louis  to 
Bernard,  and  they  both  gazed  intensely  after 
him,  until  he  was  lost  amidst  the  hubbub  of 
the  camp. 

It  had  already  begun  to  grow  dark  when 
the  regiment  reached  the  spot  selected  for 
their  resting-place.  The  space  which  they 
were  to  occupy  was  distinctly  marked  out 
by  the  location  itself;  they  were  on  the  top 
of  a  hill,  of  which  the  crowning  surface  was 
perfectly  smooth  and  barren,  but  bordered 
all  around  by  bushes  and  underwood.  A 
few  hundred  paces  on  one  side,  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  somewhat  higher  eminence,  the 
Emperor's  tent  was  pitched.  From  its  cen- 
tre pole  floated  the  tri-coior.  Two  of  the 
"  Old  Guard"  stood  sentry  at  the  door. 
Generals,  officers,  adjutants,  orderlies,  &c., 
came  and  vyent  without  intermission.  Ber- 
nard looked  steadily  over  towards  the  tent, 
in  which  at  that  moment  the  fate  of  Europe 
was  deciding.  But  there  tvas  not  much 
time  allowed  him  to  indulge  in  idle  musings  ; 
the  most  agreeable  portion  of  a  soldier's 
labor  was  begun.  Pickets  were  driven  into 
the  ground  to  portion  off  the  temporary  sta- 
bles for  the  horses,  by  uncoiled  foraging- 
lines  being  tied  from  one  to  the  other ;  cook- 
ing places  were  marked  out ;  some  set  about 
retching  wood  and  straw ;  others  brought 
'vater.  In  a  little  while  the  merry  fire  of 
the  bivouac  blazed  up  ;  the  men  laid  them- 
selves down  around  it,  entered  into  familiar 
chat  with  each  other,  and  all  became  more 
cheerful.  A  good  dram,  which  Rasinski 
caused  to  be  distributed  increased  the  gene- 
ral hilarity  ;  even  lively  war-songs  and  sol- 
diers' ditties  sounded  loudly,  until  the  shades 
of  night  and  the  fatigues  of  the  day  invited 
the  leaden  wings  of  Morpheus  over  the 
breathing  throng  and  changed  the  busy  hum 
of  the  camp  into  solemn  and  thoughtful 
silence. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

It  wa's  past  midnight.  Rasinski,  wrapped 
up  in  a  horse-cloak,  lay  by  a  larger  fire  than 
the  others,  under  a  wide-branching  oak, 
asleep  on  a  thin  bed  of  straw,  without  the 
shelter  of  a  hut  or  a  tent.  Boleslaus,  Jaro- 
mir,  Bernard,  and  other  younger  officers 
were  lying  around  him  on  the  ground. 

An  orderly  stepped  within  the  circle  of  the 
sleepers  and  asked  Louis,  whose  watch  it 
was  by  the  fire,  to  show  him  Colonel  Rasin- 
ski. Before  he  could  answer,  the  latter 
started  up.  His  slumbers  hardly  ever  im- 
peded this  man's  habitual  alertness. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked. 

The  orderly  gave  him  a  sealed  note,  which 
Rasinski  read  by  the  light  of  the  camj>fire. 

"  Very  well,  comrade ;  I  will  be  punctual," 
he  said,  after  having  ascertained  the  con- 
tents. 

The  orderly  departed.  Rasinski  called  for 
his  groom. 

"  Saddle  my  roan  immediaftely,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  you  too,  my  friends,"  turning  to  Louis, 
and  to  Bernard,  who  had  also  awakened, 
"  saddle  your  horses,  for  we  must  away  in- 
stantly." 

The  young  men  sprang  briskly  up  and 
hastened  to  their  horses  ;  for  they  had  made 
it  a  rule  to  perform  all  the  duties  of  the  com- 
mon soldier  themselves,  so  as  not  to  become 
squeamish  and  effeminate,  or  awaken  the 
jealousy  of  others.  They  returned  mounted 
in  a  few  minutes.  Rasinski  was  already  on 
horseback.  The  rest  of  the  officers,  who  had 
been  lying  around  the  fire,  had  awakened 
and  risen. 

"  Most  probably  I  shall  be  back  before  day- 
break," said  Rasinski ;  "  should,  however, 
anything  occur  during  my  absence,  you  must 
address  yourselves  to  Major  Negolinski,  as 
the  senior  officer  of  the  regiment.  He  has 
already  been  notified  to  that  effect.  Au 
revoir  /" 

They  left  at  a  slow  pace,  and  rode  down 
the  hill  through  the  underwood,  straight  to- 
wards the  Emperor's  tent. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it  ?"  asked  Rasinski. 

"  Half-past  one,"  answered  Bernard. 

"  Then  we  are  almost  too  early.  The 
Emperor  wishes  to  reconnoitre  the  banks  of 
the  Niemen  at  the  first  dawn.  I  am  com- 
manded to  join  his  suite,  as  I  am  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  neighborhootl.  I  recom- 
mend to  you,  my  dear  friends,  to  observe  the 
utmost  silence,  for  the  Emperor  hates  every 
idle  noise  at  those  weighty  moments  when 
he  deliberates  on  his  gigantic  schemes." 

Both  the  young  men  were  by  these  words 
wrought  up  to  a  state  of  intense  expectation. 
For  the  first  time  they  were  to  be  witnesses 
of  one  of  those  momentous  occasions  when 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


the  autocrat  of  Europe  stretched  forth  the 
first  threads  of  a  bold  and  all-comprising 
woof.  They  were  in  a  measure  introduced 
into  the  workshop  of  the  world's  history ; 
they  were  approaching  the  fountain-head  of 
events  which,  growing  into  a  river  and  ex- 
panding into  an  ocean,  was  destined  to  carry 
the  destiny  of  entire  nations  on  its  roaring 
and  tumultuous  waves. 

Silently  they  rode  along  through  night  and 
forest,  following  the  rigidly-silent  guide  be- 
tween the  gloomy  camp-fires  which  glimmer- 
ed to  the  right  and  left  towards  the  tent  of 
the  Emperor.  There  they  found  a  number 
of  generals  and  other  officers  already  as- 
sembled. A  few  minutes  afterwards  the 
Emperor  issued  from  his  tent  and  mounted 
his  horse.  The  morning  twilight  already 
began  to  appear ;  but  the  entire  landscape 
was  yet  enveloped  in  a  greyish  veil,  here 
and  there  made  more  impenetrable  by  the 
mist  of  the  morning.  In  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  they  had  reached  the  wood-clad 
hills  which  line  the  course  of  the  Niemen. 
The  beautiful  stream  glided  in  pale  lustre 
between  the  dusky  banks,  reflecting  the  ex- 
piring stars  on  its  surface.  On  the  other 
side  lay  the  territory  of  Russia. 

The  Emperor  halted  on  the  hill,  and  for 
some  time  looked  attentively  on  every  side. 
1  le  then  spurred  down  the  hill  at  a  short 
gallop  towards  the  river.  As  his  horse  trod 
on  the  wet  sandy  beach,  he  sank  suddenly 
down  by  the  fore-feet,  fell,  and  threw  his 
lider  over  his  head. 

For  a  moment  every  one  was  stunned  by 
;ui  accident  which  looked  very  much  like  a 
bad  omen.  Rasinski  was  so  struck  that  he 
involuntarily  exclaimed  : 

"  A  Roman  would  turn  back  !" 
The  deep  silence  which  prevailed  among 
all  present,  together  with  the  stillness  of  the 
morning,  which  so  easily  transmits  every 
sound,  made  these  words  audible  to  every 
one.  Even  the  Emperor,  who  had  quickly 
sprung  to  his  feet,  must  have  heard  them,  for 
he  suddenly  looked  up,  but  said  nothing. 
Calmly  he  remounted  his  horse,  and  con- 
tinued his  reconnoitring.  He  called  Rasin- 
ski near  him,  and  spoke  often  to  him  with 
great  animation.  He  rode  for  a  good  hour 
along  the  river-side,  then  turned  back,  and 
galloped  dowi.  to  the  bottom  of  a  hill.  By  a 
gesture  he  summoned  Marshal  Uerthier  to 
his  side,  and  while  pointing  with  his  hand 
towards  the  river,  ordered  him  at  the  setting 
of  the  sun  that  day  to  throw  bridges  across 
at  three  separate  points  of  the  bank,  which 
he  distinctly  indicated.  After  having  done 
this,  he  returned  to  his  tent,  and  Rasinski 
with  his  two  companions  repaired  again  to 
their  bivouac. 

The  day  crept  along  under  many  restless 


anticipations.  Napoleon's  tent  was  taken 
down.  He  removed  to  a  farm-house  close 
by,  which  he  left  every  now  and  then  to  take 
a  ride  through  the  encampment,  and  to  ani- 
mate the  courage  of  the  troops  by  his  pre- 
sence. As  the  sun  rose  higher,  the  atmos- 
phere became  exceedingly  close  and  sultry. 
The  sufibcating  heat  of  the  long  summer-day 
of  the  north  threatened  to  stifle  them  all ;  the 
sun  shot  down  his  fiery  beams ;  the  troops 
kept  themselves  quietly  in  the  camp ;  the 
only  business  attended  to  was  the  care  of 
horses  and  of  arms  ;  but  even  that  was  very 
fatiguing  in  the  burning  heat.  Every  shady 
nook  was  eagerly  sought  out  and  occupied  ; 
a  cooling  drink  was  the  only  luxury  for 
which  the  men  struggled.  They  imagined 
that  they  were  carrying  war  into  Egypt  or 
Syria,  rather  tlian  into  frozen  Russia. 

At  last  the  shadows  grew  longer  and  the 
sun  began  to  decline.  Towards  eight  o'clock 
a  few  detachments  of  pioneers  departed  for 
the  river  to  construct  the  bridges.  Expecta- 
tion rose  in  proportion  as  the  decisive  moment 
drew  nearer.  Sleep  would  on  that  account 
alone  have  fled  the  eyelids  of  the  eager  sol- 
diers. 

Finally,  at  midnight,  came  the  order  to 
break  up  the  camp.  All  were  ordered  to 
march  in  the  utmost  silence  ;  not  a  whisper 
was  to  be  heard,  not  a  spark  of  fire  allowed 
to  be  seen. 

Rasinski  ordered  his  men  to  mount,  and  in 
close  column  they  struck  into  a  wide  road 
which  conducted  to  the  river.  In  half  an 
hour  they  came  to  a  halt  on  a  hill  covered 
with  grain  wet  with  the  dew.  The  hungry 
horses  pulled  up  the  young  corn ;  the  men 
laid  themselves  down  on  the  moist  ground. 
Every  one  waited  the  breaking  of  day  with 
impatience.  Dark  clouds  of  mist  and  fog 
delayed  the  hour  considerably.  At  last  a 
brisk  wind  sprang  up,  scattered  the  vapors, 
and  unveiled  the  first  tender  purple  streak 
of  day  streaming  from  out  the  depths  of  the 
land  of  the  Russ.  The  eye  could  now  range 
over  the  opposite  shore,  for  it  could  be  plainly 
seen  from  the  hills  on  which  they  were 
islanding.  What  a  prospect  suggestive  of 
dark  forebodings  was  there  !  The  eye  roved 
over  nothing  but  interminable  forests  and 
wide  barren  wastes.  What !  were  they 
come  to  conquer  such  a  desert,  inhospitable 
country,  looking  more  like  an  immense 
prison-house  than  anything  else,  and  with 
the  sacrifice  of  so  many  thousand  lives  and 
rivers  of  blood  ?  A  saddening  dejection  took 
possession  of  the  minds  of  the  warriors.  On 
a  sudden  there  sounded  a  loud  trumpet-call ; 
the  sun  rose  bloody  but  flashing  over  the 
black  fir-tops  of  the  forest,  and  the  refreshing 
wafting  of  the  morning-breeze  filled  the  breast 
with  joy  and  strength  afresh.     Every  eye 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


was  turned  back  to  the  point  from  which  the 
war-lijje  signal  for  marching  had  proceeded. 
It  was  from  the  Emperor's  tent,  which  during 
the  night  had  been  pitched  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  river's  bank.  The  tent  siione 
prominently  in  the  morning  sun  ;  the  tri- 
colored  banner,  with  its  white,  blue  and  red 
divisions,  waved  proudly  in  the  breeze.  A 
dazzling  retinue  of  marshals  and  generals 
was  stationed  before  the  tent.  The  Emperor 
appeared,  made  a  salute  in  military  style, 
and  vaulted  on  the  back  of  his  Arabian  grey. 
As  if  moved  by  a  single  nod,  the  several 
columns  broke  away  from  the  edge  of  the 
forest.  In  a  few  moments  more  every  hill 
was  covered  with  black  waving  masses,  their 
glittering  arms  reflected  by  the  glowing 
morning  sun.  The  whole  expanse  moved  in 
dazzling  splendor  ;  the  heart  expanded  at  the 
sight  of  these  stupendous  forces.  The  dark 
masses  splitting  into  three  broad  streams, 
poured  down  through  the  sand-fields  towards 
the  three  bridges  which  connected  the  two 
banks  of  the  Niemen.  In  the  mirror  of  these 
waters  their  numbers  were  multiplied.  The 
Emperor  set  out  and  rode,  accompanied  by 
his  staff,  along  the  columns  towards  the 
middle  bridge,  and  crossed  over.  He  did  not 
tread  the  hostile  shore  hesitating,  doubtful  or 
timorous ;  no :  impetuous  and  fiery  he  cross- 
ed the  bridge.  On  the  other  side  he  halted 
and  let  the  troops  pass  by  him.  The  glance 
of  his  grey,  piercing  eye  enkindled  an  inex- 
tinguishable courage  in  the  breasts  of  his 
soldiers.  They  greeted  him  with  loud  jubilee, 
which  made  the  welkin  ring,  and  which  the 
silent  shades  of  the  deep  desert  forests  seem- 
ed to  hear  with  astonishment. 

It  was  not  till  towards  ten  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon  that  Rasinski  with  his  regiment 
passed  the  bridge.  The  Emperor  looked 
upon  him  complacently,  as  the  the  Poles  in 
their  own  language  raised  the  cry  of,  "  Long 
live  the  Emperor  !"  He  then  suddenly  turn- 
ed his  horse  about,  and  spurred  with  the 
arrow's  speed  down  the  sandy  road,  deep 
into  the  forest,  so  that  he  completely  vanished 
out  of  sight  of  his  troops.  A  vague  feeling 
of  uneasiness  immediately  seized  upon  every 
breast  as  they  saw  him  who  had  brought 
them  into  these  deserts  of  the  North  suddenly 
disappear.  But  he  soon  returned  with  the 
hanging  bridle-reini  He  looked  uneasy  and 
displeased  ;  he  seemed  to  be  much  offended 
because  he  did  not  find  the  enemy,  which  his 
heart,  so  eager  for  the  contest,  and  so  proud 
in  anticipation  of  certain  victory,  had  so 
ardently  wished  to  see  present. 

Slowly  the  massy  columns  proceeded  up 
the  stream.  They  now  heard  a  distant  can- 
nonade. Every  one  listened  ;  again  there 
was  a  roar,  a  rumbling  noise,  as  of  the  distant 
crash  of  heavy  artillery. 


The  utmost  interest  and  anxiety  was  mani- 
fest on  every  countenance  ;  the  ranks  closed 
up  nearer  together,  and  were  more  strictly 
put  in  order.  Adjutants  flew  hither  and 
thither.  It  was  supposed  that  one  of  the 
side-divisions  under  the  King  of  Westphalia 
or  the  Viceroy  of  Italy,  had  commenced  an 
engagement.  Then  the  dull  roar  sounded 
yet  louder  ;  but  it  was  not  that  of  a  battle  in 
the  distance ;  it  was  the  crashings  of  a 
rising  and  violent  thunder-storm. 

Black  and  sulphurous  streaks  crossed  the 
heavy  clouds  which  now  advanced  over  the 
lower  forest-clad  hills  ;  the  river  rolled  along 
its  dark  and  now  agitated  fcillows ;  the  sun 
vanished  from  the  firmament.  On  every  side 
the  dark  curtains'  of  the  storm-spirit  were 
drawn  around  the  but  now  clear  Ad  pure 
sky;  the  thunder  rolled  and  crashed  all 
around;  a  stifling  heat  impeded  the  breathing 
of  man  and  beast.  Silent  and  slow  the  army 
marched  onwards ;  nothing  was  heard  but 
the  mysterious  grumblings  of  the  thunder 
high  above  the  crowns  and  deep  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  gloomy  forest.  Now  the  wind 
also  arose  in  terrible  power,  sped  furiously 
on  its  behest,  and  lashed  the  waves  high  and 
foaming  between  the  two  shores.  Suddenly 
a  livid  flame  shot  through  the  heavens,  setting 
as  it  were  the  entire  horizon  on  fire,  the 
Niemen  reflecting  back  the  burning  Pande- 
monium in  bloody  red.  The  soldiers  looked 
at  each  other  with  blanched  faces.  A  deaf- 
ening crash  burst  over  their  heads,  the  sky 
was  rent  in  twain,  and  in  hissing  cataracts 
the  rain  rushed  down  upon  them. 

Such  was  the  reception  of  the  French  on 
the  soil  of  Russia  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Since  Louis'  absence  the  days  had  passed 
silently  and  drearily  for  mother  and  daughter. 
Mary  bore  her  grief  with  great  patience. — 
She  complained  not,  she  wept  not,  but  sought 
her  only  consolation  in  a  redoubled  attention 
and  care  for  her  mother.  A  melancholy  re- 
signation had  spread  over  her  whole  being, 
which  gave  to  her  even  a  new  and  more  ten- 
der claim.  She  became  better  through  her 
grief,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  noble 
souls,  and  in  the  same  degree  as  her  own 
sufferings  rose,  so  also  did  her  compassion 
and  attention  increase  for  the  sufferings  of 
others.  She  consecrated  to  her  mother  all 
the  thoughts  of  her  soul  as  the  sickness  of 
her  parent  had  taken  a  more  dangerous  turn 
from  the  anxiety  and  suspense  which  Louis' 
fate  had  thrown  her  into. 


90 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


Strange  as  it  may  appear,  this  season  of 
tjials  was  a  beneficial  one  for  Mary — for  the 
claims  of  duty,  the  attentive  fostering  her 
mother  demanded,  deprived  her  of  the  contin- 
ual thinking  of  her  own  grief,  which  in  this 
manner  unobservedly  lost  its  harshness  and 
began  to  heal,  so  that  in  a  short  time  she  no 
more  fi^t  the  hot  pain  of  the  wound  itself, 
but  only  the  beneficial  feebleness  which  fol- 
lows after  violent  bleeding.  She  was  also 
forced  to  be  constantly  active,  and  this  drew 
her  much  from  corroding  thought  and  solici- 
tude. She  was  likewise  assisted  by  Julie  or 
Emma  who  occasionally  came  in  from  the 
country  to  give  her  company  and  assistance. 
With  astonishing  quickness  half  the  sum- 
mer thus  passed  away,  and  the  days  already 
began  to  shorten  perceptibly,  when  the  mo- 
ther thought  herself  again  strong  enough  to 
vi^t  the  baths  of  Toplitz,  whither  she  gener- 
ally went  every  year.  July  was  not  yet  over, 
when  in  the  company  of  Mary  she  set  out 
upon  this  journey. 

On  a  clear  morning,  when  the  sky  decked 
with  its  serene  azure  the  earth,  andf  the  sil- 
very net  of  dew  lay  in  all  its  brilliancy  over 
the  fields,  they  left  Dresden.  The  hours  of 
noon  they  passed  in  a  solitary  inn  on  the 
roadside  not  far  from  Peterswalde.  Mean- 
while, the  glowing  atmosphere  was  pleas- 
antly cooled  by  a  thunder-storm  which  ter- 
minated in  a  fertile  shower  of  rain.  They 
continued  their  journey  while  the  rain-drops 
were  still  slowly  falling,  although  the  clouds 
had  dispersed  and  blue  stripes  looked  through 
the  thin  foggy  veil.  The  sun  threw  his  glit- 
tering rays  upon  foliage  and  fields  which 
shone  with  the  brilliant  decoration  of  the 
rain-drops.  Thus  they  reached  the  Moiien- 
dorf  mountain  which  they  slowly  ascended. 
With  the  afternoon  sun  they  reached  the  top, 
and  the  little  church  and  now  the  whole 
kingdom  of  Bohemia  lay  spread  out  at  their 
feet.  Although  Mary  had  often  before  en- 
joyed this  majestic  view,  still  she  was  always 
agreeably  surprised  and  charmed  by  the  re- 
newal. She  left  the  carriage  with  her  mo- 
ther and  walked  down  the  road  to  the  chapel 
in  the  shadow  of  which  they  sat  down  on  a 
bench. 

The  Ertzgebirge  was  there  with  its  green 
shadowy  forest  majestically  spread  out  to- 
wards the  south-east.  In  its  deep  valleys  the 
clean  houses  of  many  villages,  castles,  and 
convents  were  seen.  The  lengthened  forests 
often  projected  far  into  the  country  until 
interrupted  by  corn-fields  and  meadows.  The 
high-road  turned  in  many  windings  like  a 
brilliant  white  stripe  down  the  mountain, 
then  struck  the  forest  and  intersected  all  the 
rich  villages  of  the-  Valley. 

With  pleasure  Mary  rested  her  eye  upon 
this  well-known  landscape.     With  a  dreamy 


foreboding  she  looked  upon  the  high  blae 
colossal  Milischauer,  which,  like  a  majestic 
pair  of  wings,  rise  in  the  heart  .of  Bohemia, 
occupying  the  major  part  of  the  boundary  of 
the  eastern  horizon.  Further  off,  behind 
them,  where  the  dispersing  thunder-clouds 
were  now  going,  was  the  immense  country 
where  were  all  those  dearest  to  her  upon 
earth.  In  deep  veiled  silence  her  heart  also 
beat  for  the  man  whose  manly  noble  appear- 
ance, whose  noble  spirit  had  gained  her 
deepest  respect,  and  whom  she  would,  per- 
haps, have  followed  had  not  holier  ties  forced 
her  to  remain  in  her  fatherland. 

The  steep  descent  obliged  the  carriage  to 
stop  several  times ;  therefore  the  ladies  could, 
take  a  nearer  foot-path  which  soon  united 
with  the  highway.  There  they  again  step- 
ped into  the  carriage,  and  now  in  a  few 
hours  reached  their  well-known  place  of  so- 
journ. Here  they  were  received  by  their  old 
hosts,  the  farmer  Holder  and  his  wife,  to 
whom  they  had  already  been  announced,' and 
Mary  had  the  pleasure  of  being  recognised 
by  all  the  children  of  the  house.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  settled  in  their  little  quiet 
garden-room,  and  felt  themselves  as  comforta- 
ble as  in  their  own  house.  The  door  of  the 
sitting-room  led  immediately  into  the  tolwa- 
bly  large  garden,  planted  with  fruit-trees  and 
vegetables,  and  many  pretty  flowers,  and  fur- 
nishing a  view  of  the  Schlossberg  with  its 
beautiful  ruins  in  the  distance. 

With  excellent  sense  and  feeling  Mary 
understood  how  to  make  herself  comfortable 
under  all  circumstances.  It  had  become  a 
second  nature  to  her  to  make  all  around  her 
look  gaily  and  homelike.  Without  herself 
knowing  why,  a  disorderly  room  often  caus- 
ed her  the  greatest  displeasure,  while  on  the 
contrary,  the  arranging  and  decorating  a 
place  which  she  had  chosen  for  a  sojourn 
gave  her  the  greatest  happiness.  Not  that 
she  loved  splendor  or  modern  elegance,  but 
all  around  her  must  have  a  friendly  appear- 
ance. 

The  manner  in  which  she  placed  a  flower- 
pot, arranged  her  work  in  a  room,  spread  the 
books  which  she  intended  to  read  first,  her 
notes,  her  small  drawings,  all  this  created  a 
comfort  which  every  one  was  surprised  at, 
when  on  entering  he  but  cast  a  glance 
around  the  apartment.  Even  now  it  wag 
her  first  occupation  to  open  the  trunks  and 
decorate  the  room.  But  her  fondness  for 
order  was  not  directed  to  outward  splendor 
alone  ;  it  reached  everywhere  whit^ier  the 
eye  of  a  strange  observer  could  not  reach. 
In  her  work-box,  her  bureau,  the  same  neat 
and  comfortable  order  might  be  found  as  in  her 
room — yes,  in  her  dress,  in  her  hair  even,  the 
observer  recognised  the  exercise  of  the  same 
pains.  Is  it  tl^n  astonishing  that  this  harmo- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


91 


nioas  unison  of  places  and  things  was  also 
evident  in  her  character.  By  female  order 
and  government  she  would  have  rendered 
even  a  dungeon  a  comfortable  abode — how, 
then,  should  she  not  be  able  by  a  pious  resig- 
nation ;  by  a  continual  attention  to  every 
duty  ;  by  a  ready  recognizance  of  everything 
pleasant  which  happened  to  her,  to  give  a 
milder  form  to  the  sad  combinations  of  a 
painful  fate — by  a  firm  resolute  will  to  curb 
in  a  beneficial  manner  the  violence  of  excited 
passions. 

To  this  quality  of  the  mind  she  added  a 
mild  gaiety  which  did  not  leave  her  even  in 
periods  as  sad  as  that  which  she  now  lived 
in,  and  which  communicated  itself  even  to 
those  around  her.  And,  although  it  is  hard 
to  decide  whether  this  power  was  gained  by 
exercise  of  will,  or  by  a  natural  happy  tem- 
per, its  blissful  consequences  exercised  their 
influence  also  upon  her.  For,  when  through 
it  she  consoled  those  nearest  and  dearest  to 
her,  and  especially  her  mother,  she  was  her- 
self happier,  more  hopeful,  and  although 
through  a  gloomy  veil,  she  looked  into  the 
future  with  a  freer  and  more  confiding  eye. 

On  the  first  evening  the  two  ladies  did  not 
leave  the  house.  Mary  had  ordered  the  tea- 
table  to  be  brought  into  an  arbor  of  the  gar- 
den, which,  overshadowed  by  wild  vines  and 
blooming  panseys',  afforded  a  cool  seat  and  a 
beautiful  view  of  the  Schlossberg,  the  ruins 
of  which  shone  gilded  by  the  setting  sun. 
Hither  she  invited  the  daughters  of  thp  host, 
Anne  and  Therese,  the  former  a  smart  child 
of  twelve  years,  who  had  already  to  thank 
Mary  for  many  instructive  things  she  had 
taught  her.  The  other,  a  fair  curly-haired 
creature  of  four  years,  whose  funny  gaiety 
made  her  to  Mary  as  dear  as  a  sister,  even 
had  she  not  been  the  godmother  of  the  child. 
Anne  thought  herself  honored  by  the  per- 
mission to  sit  like  a  littl<?  lady  with  her  knit- 
ting-work at  the  tea-table  of  the  strangers. 
Therese  amused  her  by  her  merry  prattling, 
and  naive  questions.  Mary  attended  to  both 
with  the  friendliness  of  an  elder  sister,  and 
by  agreeing  with  their  childish  representa- 
tions engaged  them  to  unrestrained  mirth  and 
delight. 

With  the  next  day  the  arrangements  which 
had  to  be  made  for  the  convenience  of  both, 
began.  An  early  rising  was  necessary,  the 
other  occupations  had  to  be  arranged  accord- 
ingly, including;  the  promenades  which  the 
physician  had  ordered.  Mary  accompanied 
her  mother  everywhere.  During  the  bathing 
hour  of  the  latter  she  used  to  take  a  prome- 
nade, generally  in  the  castle-garden,  with 
some  acquaintances  of  Dresden,  who  had 
also  come  to  visit  the  baths.  Although  living 
very  retired,  on  these  promenades  Mary  be- 
came gradually  acquainted  with  the  diflfer- 


ent,  sometimes  odd  figures,  who  congregate 

at  the  baths. 

Finally  it  was  known  with  whom  each 
passed  their  time  ;  those  who  left  were  missed 
— new  arrivals  immediately  observed.  The 
great  freedom  of  conversation  which  exists 
at  a  bath  causes  one  to  fall  easily  into  the 
connexion  even  of  strangers.  Young  men 
also  willingly  joined  the  group  in  which  Mary 
figured — for  from  a  distance  already  her  fine 
figure  excited  curiosity ;  her  beautiful,  but 
very  modest  dress,  enticed  them  to  step  nearer 
to  her  ;  the  mild  expression  of  her  features, 
the  faithful  glance. of  her  blue  eye,  and  espe- 
cially her  agreea-ble  behavior — equally  far 
from  bashful  retirement  as  from  coquetry  or 
arrogance — were  so  charming  that  old  and 
young  used  all  endeavors  to  enter  into  con- 
versation with  her. 

Thus  Mary's  appearance  at  the  morning 
promenades  had  gradually  made  her  ac- 
quainted with  the  bathing  world,  and  her 
presence  at  a  small  rural  restival,  which  was 
to  be  arranged,  was  considered  indispensable, 
if  it  should  not  want  its  finest  decoration. 
It  happened,  therefore,  on  a  certain  morning, 
as  she  took  her  usual  promenade  with  her 
friends  near  the  fountain,  that  she  was  ap- 
proached by  a  deputation  of  young  men,  at 
whose  head  was  an  Austrian  captain  of 
cavalry,  Arnheim,  who  visited  the  bath  for  a 
wound  of  the  arm,  which  he  had  received  in 
the  Battle  of  Wagram.  With  a  modest  bear- 
ing he  addressed  her  tJius  : 

"  In  the  name  of  the  bath  company,  I  have 
to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you.  Miss  Rosen  ;  but 
almost  fear  that  you  will  refuse  it." 

"  Certainly  not !"  said  Mary,  kindly.  "  If 
the  compliance  is  within  my  power.  Ye^  I 
do  not  know,"  she  added,  with  an  innocent 
smile,  "  what  I  could  do  which  would  be  of 
any  interest  to  the  company." 

"  Until  now  you  have  been  to  us  only  the 
morning  star  which  vanished  with  the  in- 
creasing day,"  continued  the  captain,  giving 
to  his  simile  a  light  jocund  turn.  "We 
would  ask  you  to  shine  for  us  once  also  as 
the  evening  star.  For  to-morrow  we  have 
arranged  a  small  festival,  and  we  should  be 
sorry  for  it  to  lack  the  decoration  your  pre- 
sence would  give  to  it.  May  we  dare  to  hope  1^ 

At  the  same  time  the  other  young  men 
united  their  prayers  to  those  of  the  captain. 

"  I  shall  most  willingly  accept  the  invita- 
tion," said  Mary,  kindly,  "if  my  mother 
permits  it." 

"  Receive  our  most  hearty  thanks  before- 
hand," rd|)lied  the  captain,  with  animation, 
and  the  other  young  men  also  expressed 
themselves  thankfully  and  gaily. 

"  But  where  are  you  going  to  celebrate 
your  festival  ?"  asked  Mary,  after  some  mo- 
ments. 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


*•  We  have  agreed,"  replied  Arnheim,  "  to 
make  a  little  excursion  into  the  mountains 
and  amuse  ourselves  with  jokes  and  recrea- 
tion, and  if  possible,  by  dancing  in  the  open 
air  as  well  as  we  can.  We  thought  to  drive 
to  Aussig  and  thence  in  a  boat  go  up  the 
Elbe  to  the  Schrukenstein.  The  rest  we  will 
leave  to  the  favor  of  the  weather." 

"  The  choice  of  the  entertainments  could 
not  be  more  in  accordance  with  my  inclina- 
tions," replied  Mary. 

The  young  men  expressed  their  thanks 
and  joy  once  more,  and  then  retired  to  ^oin 
the  other  promcnaders.  The  family  from 
Dresden,  which  Mary  had  joined,  had  also 
been  invited  to  the  festival,  and  the  daughters 
immediately  offered  to  take  Mary  with  them 
if  her  mother  should  refuse  to  participate. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  is  only  too  certain,"  said 
Mary  ;  "  for  she  cannot  expose  herself  to  the 
uncertainty  of  the  weather.  In  spite  of  the 
warmth  of  the  seupn,  the  chill  of  the  stream 
and  the  evening  Mr  would  be  dangerous  to 
her.  I,  therefore,  willingly  assent  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  festival  under  your  protection, 
not  that  I  am  in  a  humor  which  promises  me 
much  enjoyment,  but  because  I  should  be 
sorry  to  decline  so  kind  an  invitation." 

Whilfe  saying  this,  her  mother  came  out  of 
the  bath.  Mary  immediately  communicated 
to  her  what  had  happened,  and  received  her 
most  ready  consent. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  clearest  morning  had  dawned.  It 
just  struck  nine  o'clock  when,  in  a  light 
white  summer-dress,  decorated  only  with 
some  bows  of  lilac  ribbon,  after  having  giv- 
en to  her  mother  a  parting  kiss,  with  gay 
steps  Mary  went  through  the  garden  to  go 
through  the  back  gate,  the  nearest  way  to 
the  family  of  her  friends  who  were  to  be  her 
protectors.  A  carriage  already  stood  before 
the  door  of  the  house,  and  the  two  young 
girls  gaily  hastened  down  the  stairs  to  re- 
ceive Mary. 

"  We  shall  have  the  finest  weather,"  they 
said,  after  the  first  salutations  were  exchang- 
ed. "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  again  the  beau- 
tiful landscape  which  for  a  long  time  I  have 
not  visited,"  Mary  responded. 

During  this  conversation  the  parents  step- 
ped out,  bade  Mary  welcome,  and  all  went 
down  the  steps  to  enter  the  carriage.  They 
soon  left  the  town  and  were  rolling  between 
dewy  bushes  and  hedges,  meadows  and  corn- 
fields towards  their  rendezvous.  It  was 
thought  a  little  surprising  that  no  carriage 


was  yet  seen  on  the  road,  as  a  great  number 
of  persons  were  expected  to  participate  in  the 
festival.  On  a  small  hill  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  town,  all  were  relieved  in  the 
most  agreeable  manner.  From  the  distance 
already  it  was  seen  that  the  way  was  crossed 
by  a  garland  of  flowers,  which  on  coming 
nearer  was  discovered  to  be  a  beautiful  arcE 
of  honor.  This  splendid  flower-chain  was 
suspended  between  the  tops  of  two  young 
beeches  which  stood  by  the  road-side,  and 
the  bushes  which  surrounded  them  vrere 
decorated  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  suspended 
from  branch  to  branch,  thereby  forming  a  pic- 
ture which,  although  not  very  symmetrical, 
had  a  wonderful  charm  lent  to  the  fantastic 
disorder. 

Joyfully  the  eyes  of  the  young  girls  rested 
upon  this  dedication  to  the  amusement  of  the 
day.  Suddenly,  as  the  carriage  stood  under 
the  arch,  two  horsemen  came  galloping  out 
of  the  bushes  on  either  side,  their  hats  deco- 
rated with  leaves  and  flowers.  These  were 
followed  by  others  who  drew  themselves  up 
on  either  side  of  the  way  and  gave  a  gay 
morning  salute  to  the  ladies.  The  guides 
rode  up  to  the  carriage  and  handed  each  of 
them  a  fragrant  bunch  of  flowers.  It  was 
the  captain  who  saluted  Mary  in  this  man- 
ner. He  and  another  horseman  then  accom- 
panied the  carriage,  riding  on  either  side  of 
it.  They  wished  at  the  same  time  that  the 
carriage  might  go  as  slow  as  possible,  that 
those  from  the  town  might  join  them  and 
then  form  a  long  and  gay  line. 

"  Then  we  are  the  first  ?"  said  Mary,  while 
the  carriage  drove  on  and  the  captain  rode  at 
the  side. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied.  "  We  had  desir- 
ed the  ladies  to  leave  exactly  at  six  o'clock, 
and  we  had  arranged  that  we,  who  are  on 
horseback,  should  receive  the  visitors  here 
on  the  height.  But  See  !  our  procession  gains 
quite  a  respectable  appearance !  Only  ob- 
serve how  carriage  follows  carriage  to  join 
in  the  line  I" 

Indeed  three  carriages  were  seen  accompa- 
nied by  their  riders  driving  at  intervals  down 
the  mountain  whence  they  had  just  come. 
They  quickly  reached  the  first,  and  bow  drove 
just  as  slow.  As  the  road,  to  the  point 
where  the  arch  was  erected  could  always  be 
kept  in  sight,  it  was  a  gay  amusing  sight  to 
observe  the  arrival  of  the  carriages  which, 
through  the  colored  shawls,  dresses  and  hats 
of  the  ladies,  and  the  flowers  with  which  the 
riders  were  adorned,  bore  a  lively  contrast  to 
the  meadows  and  fields,  and  brought  a  bril- 
liant array  of  colors  into  the  calm  picture  of 
the  landscape.  The  different  points  on  which 
the  eye  rested  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
soon  formed  into  a  rich  colored  chain,  which 
moved  through  the  fields.    It  turned  accord- 


NAPOLEOirS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


ing  to  the  windings  of  the  road,  rose  with  it 
upon  every  slight  hill  and  most  picturesquely 
sank  again  into  the  valley.  Ft  was  charming 
to  see  it  half  disappearing  behind  the  bushes, 
half  shining  through  the  green  foliage  of 
the  branches,  or  to  see  it  beaming  against 
the  steep  wall  of  a  rocky  height.  The  whole 
procession  passing  under  the  serene  sky, 
illumined  by  the  morning  sun,  afforded  a  gay 
view,  thereby  .tempering  joyfully  the  pre- 
sent moment  and  most  happily  commencing 
the  festival. 

As  there  were  now  no  more  to  join  the  line, 
quicker  motion  was  gradually  made ;  conse- 
quently  a  hill    about    half   way    between 
Toplitz  and  Aussig  was  soon  reached,  where 
breakfast  was  taken  in  the  open  air.     The 
hill  commanded  an   agreeable  view  of  the 
vicinity.     At  its  foot  between  thick  bushes 
lay  a  village,  through  which  a  rivulet  from 
the  mountain  bent  its  gay  course  ;  behind  it 
the  waving  corn-fields  were  seen  spreading 
over  the  hills.     Around  this  beautiful  fore- 
ground   the    high    mountains    drew    their 
blue  boundary  wall,  covered  with  the  fc^s  of 
the  morning.     Behind  the  chosen  resting 
place  the  mountains  rose  steeper,  and  were 
thickly  covered  with    woods,    which    were 
drawn  down  to  the  left  towards  the  town  of 
Aussig,  whence  they  fell  otf  to  the  Marien- 
berg.     There  also,  by  a  line  of  dark  forest- 
hills,  the  valley  of  the  Elbe  was  discovered, 
although  the  stream  itself  could  not  be  seen. 
An  old  linden  tree  offered  the  beat  shade 
for  the  breakfast ;   some  branches  which  lay 
around    were   quickly   changed  into  rural 
seats ;  the  cushions  from  the  carriages  were 
laid  down  on  the  turf,  thus  making  Turkish 
seats  for  the  ladies,  which  afforded  a  com- 
fortable repose.     Soon  the  whole  company 
were  settled,  and  all  looked  at  each  other 
with  happy  self-content.     Every  one  praised 
the  managers  of  the  fete ;  these  went  busily 
around  asking  after  the  wishes  and  wants 
of  all,  and  trying  to  get  instructions  from  the 
ladies  to  know  how  this  or  the  other  thing 
might  be  arranged  in  a  still  more  comfortable 
way.      Meanwhile  refreshments   had  been 
provided  ;  in  the  hands  of  the  men  full  glasses 
were  seen  ;  the  spirit  of  the  wine  diffused  its 
enlivening  influence  ;  merriment  and  jokes 
flew  about  everywhere  ;    the  tie  of  sociabil- 
ity already  united  those  present,  as  if  they 
had   been   long  acquainted.     Mary  herself 
became  gay  in  this  gay  company ;    but  even 
in  the  most  happy  moments,  her  joy  was  of 
a  quiet  nature.     With  a  charming  smile  on 
her  lip,  she  enjoyed  the  scene  of  youthful 
hilarity.      As  she  cast  her  eyes  over  the 
the  assembled  crowd  and  looked  at  the  dif 
ferent  faces,  of  which,  in  this  gay  company, 
there  were  the  serious  and  the  comic,  the 
charming  and  repulsive,  she  was  most  of  all 


struck  by  two  ladies,  who  sat  oa  cushions, 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  just  op- 
posite but  somewhat  far  from  her,  and  who 
seemed  highly  entertained  by  the  saUies  of 
an  older  and  a  younger  man.  She  asked 
the  Captain,  who  had  thrown  himself  down 
on  the  turf  at  her  side,  who  the  two  ladies 
were  ? 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  exactly  myself; 
so  much  only  I  know,  that  they  are  strangers 
who  arrived  yesterday,  and  who  are  not  yet 
on  the  batMng  list.  To  the  festival  they 
were  invited  only  this  morning,  when  the 
many  carriages  which  passed  the  hotel  ex- 
cited their  attention.  It  chanced  that  one 
of  the  managers,  who  had  remained  to  ar- 
range something,  and  whose  room  is  on  the 
same  corridor  with  theirs,  met  them  as  they 
were  going  to  the  fountain.  They  asked 
him  what  was  going  forward,  and  naturally, 
he  could  not  Ixit  offer  an  invitation  to  the 
festival.  As  the  carriage  in  which  they 
were  to  drive  to  the  bath  stood  before  the 
door,  they  had  only  to  change  the  direction 
to  join  our  company.  And  I  think  we  have 
lost  nothing  by  it,  for  the  mother  shows 
traces  of  great  beauty,  and  the  daughter  is 
indeed  a  charming  creature.  I  have  not  had 
an  opportunity  to  obtain  an  introduction,  but 
their  whole  appearance  announces  them 
people  of  quality.  I  shall  immediately  go 
over  and  ask  Baron  Erlhofen  himself  for 
their  names,  so  that  you  may  have  full  infor- 
mation." 

Before  Mary  could  prevent  him  the  Cap- 
tain jumped  up.  Meanwhile  she  had  time 
to  examine  closer  the  two  strangers,  and  she 
must  acknowledge  that  she  had  seldom  be- 
fore seen  mwe  noble  figures,  especially  the 
elder,  who  possessed  so  imposing  an  appear- 
ance that  the  younger.although  endowed  with 
great  beauty,  sank  in  comparison  with  her. 
The  Wack  h&vr  which  covered  the  white  fore- 
head, gave,  combined  to  the  large  dark  eye, 
that  noble  melancholy  to  the  face  to  which 
elder  features  so  powerfully  assuine.  There 
was  no  great  resemblance  between  the  two, 
yet  a  natural  relation  was  so  perceptible,  that 
the  slightest  glance  would  have  recognised 
a  near  coimexion  between  them. 

While  Mary  gave  herself  up  to  these  im- 
pressions, the  Captain  returned,  and  said  : 

"  I  can  now  give  you  full  information  :  the 
ladies  are  Poles,  the  elder  is  a  Countess 
Johanna  Micelska,  the  younger  her  foster- 
daughter,  Lodoiska." 

Mary  was  pleasantly  surprised,  for  from 
the  letters  of  her  brother,  these  names  were 
known  to  her,  as  well  as  that  "Johanna  wa« 
Rasinski's  sister.  Yet  she  was  in  a  pain- 
fully strange  embarrassment,  as  she  did  not 
know  if  Rasinski  had  ever  mentioned  her ; 
her  relationship  with  Louis  could  certainly 


94 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;    OR, 


not   have   been   communicated,  as   he  had 
taken  another  name,  yet  it  was  possible  that 
he   had   mentioned    her,  especially  as    all 
Mary's  letters  went  under  the  address  of 
Rasinski,  and  the  answers  of  Louis  and  Ber- 
nard were  always  enclosed  by  him  in  a  let- 
ter from  himself,  and  sealed  with  his  seal, 
when  he  sent  them  to  Mary's  mother.     She 
longed  to  speak  to  the  lady,  to  inquire  after 
her  brother  and  Bernard.     Her  pleasure  in 
the  amusements  of  the  festival  was  gone  ; 
all  her  thoughts  were  directed  to  this  one 
point ;  she  was  almost  unable  to  turn  her  eye 
away    from    the    Countess.     The   Captain 
commenced  a  conversation  with  her,  and  she 
needed  all  her  strength  to  be  enabled  to  give 
the  necessary  answers.     Although  the  culti- 
vated man  spoke  animatedly,  although  with 
brilliant  pleasantry  he  described  the  social 
importance   of  such  a  festival,   Mary  had 
often   with  a  slight   confusion  to  observe, 
that  though  she  had  attentively  looked  at 
him,  she  had  not  heard  a  word  of  what  he 
had  said.     She  did  not  see  how  charming  the 
groups  were  reposing,  she  did  not  hear  how 
merry  jokes  resounded  everywhere.     It  was 
therefore  agreeable  to  her  when,  afler  half 
an  hour,  the  company  rose,  and  the  Captain 
offered  her  his  arm  to  conduct  her  back  to 
the  carriage.  But  here  there  was  some  con- 
fusion, for  they  did  not  a41  know  the  carriage 
in  which  they  had  come,  and  as  most  of  them 
were  hired  carriages  from  Toplitz,  few  only 
could  find  them  again.     Thus  they  came  to 
a  friendly  dispute,  which  was  still  more  con- 
fusing through  the  jocular  intermeddling  of 
some  young  men.     Even  Mary  met  with  a 
similar    difficulty,    as    strange    ladies    had 
already   taken  possession  of  the  carriage 
which  she  and  her  party  believed  themselves 
to  have  claim  to.    "The  confusion  was  great, 
but  quite  amusing,  especially  as  the  young 
men  had  bribed  the  coachmen  to  assert,  that 
they  could  give  no  decision  in  the  matter,  as 
they  had  always  turned  their  backs  to  their 
masters,  and  consequently  could  not  know 
who   had  occupied  the  different  vehicles. 
The  quarrel  soon  became  a  general  one ;  for 
now.  with  true  social  disinterestedness,  every 
one  wished  to  be  wrong  and  yield  to  the 
other,  but  this  was  certainly  worse  still,  and 
no  remedy  for  the  evil.     Finally  Baron  Erl- 
hofen,  one  of  the  managers  of  the  festival,  a 
stout  man  of  forty,  and  of  s  )me  influence, 
asked  in  a  loud  voice  to  be  heard.     Universal 
silence  was  claimed  that  his  speech  might 
be  listened  to.     He  gaily  jumped  upon  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  waved  his  handkerchief  to  col- 
lect his  auditors  together,  then  began  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen  !  I  am  neither  a 
Cicero  nor  a  Demosthenes,  yet  in  my  case 
both  these  great  orators  would  have  had  to 
struggle  with  difficulties.    History  informs 


us  of  the  confusion  at  the  buildin;T  of  the 
Babylonian  Tower ;  it  speaks  of  the  pailia 
of  the  Labyrinth,  of  the  indissoluble  Gordian 
Knot,  of  the  mixed  seeds  which  Cinderella 
had  to  pick  out ;  but  all  this  vanishes  before 
the  terrible  confusion  and  blindness  with 
which  some  demon  intended  to  draw  us  into 
greater  misfortune.  The  iron  men  who  rose 
from  the  dragon's  teeth  which  Jason  sowed 
by  Medea's  order,  did  not  slay  each  other 
with  such  fury  for  the  stone  which  the 
Robber  of  the  Golden  Fleece  threw  among 
them,  as  we,  my  noble  friends,  were  about  to 
do  in  the  struggle  for  the  hired  carriages  of 
Toplitz.  Trojans  and  Greeks  did  not  fight 
with  such  passion  for  the  faithless  Helen, 
nor  did  Pallas  and  Aphrodite  so  wildly  quar- 
rel about  the  apple  of  Eris  as  our  beauties 
about  their  places  in  that  line  of  beautiful 
vehicles.  All  the  wisdom  of  Minos  or  King 
Solomon  would  be  unable  to  decide  this  dis- 
pute. The  wise  in  this  noble  assemblage 
may  therefore  decide,  whether  I  am  not  in- 
deed^ great  man  if  I  should  point  out  the 
means  to  arrange  all ;  and  whether  in  this 
case  I  have  not  deserved  a  laurel  for  my 
brow.  My  proposition  is,  that  as  in  our  nomad 
state  a  revolution  is  indispensable,  we  should 
immediately  adopt  a  real  Lycurgean  law,  and 
establish  liberty  and  equality  on  a  greater 
scale  than  ever  seen  in  the  French  Republic, 
by  cutting  off  all  private  possession,  and  de- 
claring all  those  handsome  carriages,  with 
the  horses,  to  be  a  national  property.  Our 
company  must,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  the 
cargo  of  a  ship,  which  differs  only  in  the 
point  that  this  latter  is  driven  by  sails,  as  we 
by  horses.  To  establish  an  equal  division, 
most  respected  friends,  it  appears  to  me  most 
advisable  that  we  form  a  polonaise,  and  thus 
dancing,  ship  away  by  pairs.  If  this  prop- 
osition, which  is  to  save  us  from  a  terrible 
calamity,  should  meet  with  your  approbation, 
ladies,  inform  me  of  it  by  giving  your  tender 
hand  to  the  engaged  cavalier,  and  willingly 
follow  me,  who  has  the  intention  to  proceed 
as  dux  gregis,  to  which  station  the  exalted 
capacity  of  my  spirits  has  elevated  me." 

For  this  speech,  which  he  delivered  in  the 
most  serious  tone,  the  Baron  received  uni- 
versal applause.  The  law  was  received  at 
once  with  acclamation.  The  Baron  engaged 
the  Countess  Micelska ;  every  gentleman 
who  had  not  come  on  horseback  offered  his 
hand  to  a  lady,  and  even  some  who  had  been 
in  the  carriages,  not  having  had  their  claims 
disputed,  left  them,  and  also  subjected  th«jm- 
selves  to  the  rule  of  this  modern  Lycurgus. 
Erlhofen  led  the  procession  several  times 
round  the  place,  until  all  had  joined  ;  he  then 
took  his  way  to  the  next  carriage,  of  which 
he  and  the  pair  which  followed  him  took  pos- 
session.   So  everything  was  arranged  in  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


best  and  quickest  manner,  and  even  the  most 
severe  mothers  and  gouvernanies  yielded  for 
the  time  to  the  arrangements  of  chance,  even 
when  it  brought  very  young  couples  together. 
Surprise  also  played  its  part  to  increase  the 
pleasure,  for  only  on  entering  a  carriage  was 
it  known  who  would  be  the  second  couple. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  dance,  Mary  said  with 
a  throbbing  heart  that  she  would  enter  the 
8ame  carriage  with  the  Countess,  being  asked 
by  the  Captain,  who  had  given  his  horse 
into  the  charge  of  a  friend.  Although  the 
state  of  her  feelings  caused  her  some  embar- 
rassment, yet  now  it  must  be  decided  wheth- 
er she  would  remain  unknown  to  the  Count- 
ess, ffiT  it  was  certain  that  Erlhofen  and  the 
Captain,  especially  as  both  were  managers 
of  the  festival,  would  introduce  the  ladies  to 
each  other.  This  was  done  as  soon  as  they 
were  in  the  carriage  ;  scarcely  had  Erlhofen 
pronounced  Mary's  name,  than  the  Count- 
ess immediately  asked,  if  she  was  from  Dres- 
den, and  whether  she  had  known  Colonel 
Rasinski,  her  brother. 

When  Mary  replied  to  both  questions  in 
the  affirmative,  the  Countess  asked  after  her 
brother  ana  ber  mother,  and  if  they  were 
both  present  ? 

"  My  mother,"  said  Mary,  much  confused, 
"is  in  Toplitz;  illness  prevents  her  from  be- 
ing present  at  the  festival ;  my  brother  is 
travelling  at  this  moment,  so  that  I  am  my- 
self unable  now  to  give  information  of  where 
he  is." 

The  Countess  expressed  the  hope  at  least 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  her  mother,  as 
she  intended  to  stay  at  Toplitz  four  weeks. 

"  Dresden,"  she  remarked,  after  a  short 
panse,  "  has  been  a  happy  place  for  my 
brother,  although  his  sojourn  there  lasted 
only  a  short  time.  For  he  gained  these  two 
iriends,  who  from  inclination  towards  him 
entered  his  regiment,  and  stayed  for  some 
time  in  my  house  at  Warsaw.  You  will 
know  them — Count  Lomond  and  Herr  Von 
Soren  ?" 

Mary  sunk  into  a  painful  embarrassment. 
All  deception,  even  the  most  innocent  devia- 
tion from  truth,  was  so  foreign  to  her  heart 
that  she  shrank  from  it,  even  in  cases  as 
pressing  as  the  present ;  and  then  she  knew 
not  how  far  Bernard  and  Louis  had  asserted 
to  be  acquainted  with  her.  Almost  inaudibly 
and  deeply  blushing  she  replied  : 

"  O,  yes,  I  know  them  distantly." 

Hut  her  confusion  did  not  escape  the  eye 
of  the  Countess,  who  gave  to  it  another 
meaning.  She  thought  herself-justified  in 
suspecting  from  Mary's  great  agitation  that 
her  heart  was  more  entangled  in  this  con- 
nection than  a  young  girl  may  betray.  With 
a  smile,  which  was  suppressed  as  soon  as  it 
appeared,  she  dropped  the  conversation,  and 


immediately  passed  to  other  things.  With 
the  address  of  one  used  to  the  world,  she 
immediately  began  to  speak  about  the  gay 
festival,  of  which  she  had  so  unexpectedly 
become  a  sharer.  Mary,  on  the  contrary, 
inquired  after  the  daughter  of  the  Countess, 
whom  she  thought  Lodoiska  to  be. 

"  For  her  sake,"  she  replied,  "  I  visit  the 
bath — less  because  her  health  requires  the 
use  of  it,  than  to  procure  for  her  some  dis- 
traction, which  in  our  native  city  of  Warsaw 
cannot  be  found,  as  it  lies  too  near  the  pre- 
sent scene  of  war.  Nothing,  therefore,  could 
be  mote  agreeable  to  me  than  to  be  saluted 
immediately  on  my  arrival  in  so  friendly  a. 
manner.  I  have  also  observed  that  this  omen, 
if  we  may  call  it  one,  has  made  a  favorable 
impression  on  Lodoiska.  She  loves  such 
things,  and  is  altogether  a  dear  dreamer.  I 
am  sorry  that  for  several  months  already  she 
has  had  so  great  an  inclination  for  melan- 
choly that  I  almost  despair  of  oi^er  reviving 
in  her  the  merry  enjoyments  of  life." 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

During  this  conversation,  which  drew  the 
ties  of  mutual  connexion  still  closer,  the  pro- 
cession had  approached  iis  destination.  Al- 
ready the  little  town  of  Aussig  was  seen,  as 
it  lay  picturesquely  along  the  banks  of  the 
Elbe.  The  horsemen,  who  till  now  had  &d- 
companied  the  carriage,  rode  in  advance,  to 
announce  the  arrival  of  the  ladies  and  pre- 
pare everything  "for  their  reception.  The 
whole  town  became  excited  when  this  line 
of  young  cavaliers  made  its  entry.  The 
neat  girls  in  their  Bohemian  bonnets  looked 
with  their  brilliant  black  eyes  at  the  noble 
gentlemen,  and  smiling  half -bash  fully,  half- 
gaily,  quickly  drew  back  their  handsome 
heads  when  a  glance  was  cast  up  to  them,  or  a 
salute,  to  which  the  young  men  in  their 
merry  impudence  were  very  much  inclined. 
The  host  of  the  inn  was  soon  informed  ;  in 
haste  he  and  his  people  came  running  to 
receive  the  visitors  and  take  charge  of  the 
horses. 

"  All  is  in  the  best  order,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  host ;  "  the  whole  house  is  at  your  ser- 
vice— the  rooms  are  cleaned  and  decorated — 
for  a  good  table  I  have  taken  care — in  short, 
I  hope  the  noble  ladies  and  gentlemen  will 
be  satisfied  with  me." 

"  We  will  see,"  said  Baron  Heilborn ;  "  we 
are  the  managers  of  the  festival — we  will 
look  at  everything.  In  ten  minutes  at  the 
latest  the  carriages  will  arrive  with  the  ladies, 
and  then  nothing  must  be  wanting.    Have 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


you  flowers  enough  to  strew  over  the  stairs, 
and  is  the  entrance  bountifully  decorated 
with  wreaths  ?" 

"  I  think  so,  your  honor,"  replied  the  host; 
"  and  not  only  the  entrance,  but  the  dining- 
saloon  also,  as  well  as  it  was  in  our  power." 
V  During  these  words  they  ascended  the 
steps  and  examined  the  upper  part  of  the 
building,  which  had  been  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  guests.  Gorgeous  rooms 
could  certainly  not  be  expected ;  for  four 
roughly-white-washed  walls,  on  which  the 
low  ceiling  was  almost  painfully  pressing, 
half  broken  doors  painted  with  a  feddish 
brown  color,  small  dim  windows  set  in  lead, 
and  a  floor  from  bad  boards  somewhat  un- 
even, could  not  certainly  form  a  brilliant 
palace ;  and  with  the  exception  of  some 
stucco-work  on  the  ceiling,  there  was  nothing 
that  could  be  called  architectural  about  it. 
But  the  host  had  hung  large  wreaths  of  oak 
branches  0{i  the  doors,  between  which  also 
some  flowers  appeared ;  the  taste  displayed 
in  the  arrangement  was  certainly  not  the 
most  happy — still  it  had  a  gay  rustic  aspect; 
green  leaves  and  flowers  always  look  pretty, 
even  if  they  are  not  artistically  arranged. 
The  saloon  was  decorated  in  the  same  style 
as  the  doors ;  along  the  white  walls  the  green 
full  oak,  wreaths  were  arranged  in  charm- 
ingly-turned arches  about  a  foot  beneath  the 
ceiling.  On  entering,  the  gentlemen  looked 
around,  and  then  gave  the  host  a  thundering 
"  Bravo  !"  for  a  merry  heart  is  satisfied  with 
all  that  tries  to  accord  with  its  humor. 

The  young  men  hurried  down,  ordered  the 
stairs  and  hall  of  the  house  to  be  strewn 
with  flowers,  and  then  idly  placed  themselves 
at  the  door  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  others. 

In  all  the  windows  round,  the  inhabitants 
of  the  town  were  to  be  seen  ;  a  lot  of  children 
had  assembled  around  the  house.  Although 
they  were  mostly  poor  and  half-naked,  still 
joy  shone  from  all  their  eyes.  The  host 
wanted  to  chase  them  away,  that  the  noble 
company,  as  he  said,  might  not  be  molested  ; 
but  Heilborn  prevented  it,  saying : 

"  Leave  the  children  to  their  amusement ; 
they  do  not  interrupt  ours.  If  others  are 
seen  to  be  merry,  then  one's-self  becomes 
more  so;  therefore  let  the  children  jump 
about,  cry  and  laugh,  and  clap  their  hands 
as  much  as  they  please.  We  shall  see  who 
will  be  the  gayest,  they  or  we." 

The  first  carriage  now  drove  over  the 
rugged  pavement  of  the  town;  all  heads 
turned  towards  the  comer  where  the  street 
from  the  city  gate  opens  to  the  market.  A 
shout  burst  from  the  children  as  the  white 
horses  which  drew  the  first  carriage  emerged 
from  the  street. 

"  Let  us  imitate  the  children,"  exclaimed 
Heilborn.    "  Let  us  salute  them." 


With  these  words  he  drew  his  handker- 
chief from  his  pocket  and  waved  it  in  the 
air.  The  others  imitated  his  action,  and  the 
children  redoubled  their  acclamations.  The 
Countess,  Mary,  the  Captain  and  Erlhofen 
were  in  the  first  carriage,  which  was  imme- 
diately followed  by  the  others.  The  younjj 
men  hastened  to  the  carriages  to  assist  the 
ladies  in  alighting. 

"  Here  we  are,"  cried  Erlhofen,  gaily ; 
"  and  behold  a  whole  crowd  of  the  people  to 
receive  us  !  This  is  worthy,  this  is  right ; 
I  am  pleased  with  this,  my  companions  in 
this  Olympic  festival." 

At  the  same  time  he  drew  out  a  long  green 
purse,  took  a  handful  of  small  silver  and 
large  copper  coin,  and  threw  it  among  the 
crowd,  exclaiming  aloud : 

"  Panem  et  circenses .'" 

He  then  jumped  down,  and  hastened 
through  the  door  after  the  ladies,  who  had 
preceded  him. 

Carriage  after  carriage  now  drove  up,  and 
figures  in  beautiful  summer  attire  jumped 
out  and  passed  through  the  door  of  the  inn. 
The  abundantly-strewn  flowers  drew  almost 
from  every  lip  a  thankful  comment.  Finally 
the  last  charming  foot  lightly  stepped  from 
the  carriage.  In  the  saloon  and  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms,  Erlhofen,  assisted  by  the  Captain, 
Heilborn  and  the  other  managers,  were  occu- 
pied meanwhile  in  procuring  seats  for  the 
ladies,  and  in  assisting  them  to  put  away 
their  shawls,  cloaks,  parasols,  reticules  and 
all  those  thousand  trifles  the  ornaments  of 
ladies. 

When  the  first  confusion  had  in  some  de- 
gree subsided,  and  order  became  restored,  the 
first  question  put  was,  what  shall  be  done 
now  ?  Erlhofen  showed  some  inclination  to 
ascend  again  the  oratorial  pulpit,  and  deliver 
a  Ciceronian  speech,  but  the  Captain  inter- 
rupted him,  saying : 

"  A  state  must  be  governed,  and  in  critical 
moments  even  a  republic  must  have  a  dicta- 
tor. If  we  discuss  and  vote  about  every- 
thing, we  shall  probably  lose  so  much  time 
that,  when  the  bestof  a  thousand  different  pro- 
jects has  been  chosen,  we  shall  want  leisure 
for  its  execution.  I  therefore  propose  that 
we  elect  a  king  and  a  queen,  whom  we  will 
obey  to-day.  These  can  then,  if  necessary, 
nominate  their  ministers  ;  in  short,  take  the 
government  of  the  whole  upon  their  shoul- 
ders." 

This  proposal  was  carried  by  universal 
acclamation,  and  the  election  of  a  monarch 
commenced,  the  first  choice  being  left  to  the 
ladies.  Erlhofen  was  at  once  elected,  with 
the  liberty  of  choosing  a  queen,  whom  he 
should  raise  to  the  throne  by  his  side.  With 
a  proud  mien,  the  crowned-head  stepped 
within  the  circle,  casting  kind,  but  inquiring 


*    NAPOLEON'S  INVA^dN  or  RUSSIii^^'?    ♦ 


97 


«♦ 


gbnces  around  upon  the  fairer  portion  of  his 
Hibjecta.  Then  with  solemn  steps  he  ap- 
proached the  Countees  Micelska,  bent  a  knee 
before  her,  and  said  : 

She  wiK}m  fate  has  led  h^her  mnst  be 
my  consort ;  may  she  share  with  me  the  most 
'envited  throne  of  Europe,  for  it  is  the  least 
troilblesome  one." 

Smiling,  the  Countess  rose  and  gave  him 
ber  hand,  as  she  replied,  graciously  : 
lii,  '*\  shall  reign,  but  so  as  befits  a  woman, 
'by  persuasions,  and  obedience  to  the  orders 
of  my  royal  partner," 

Loud  applause  greeted  the  royal  couple, 
who  immediately  entered  upon  their  duties 
by  nominating  a  cabinet. 

"  Justice,"  said  Erlhofen,  "  we  shall  ad- 
minister ourselves.  A  secretary  of  war  we 
hope  we  shall  not  need  ;  finances  will  not  be 
arranged  before  the  evening  ;  but  it  is  neces- 
sary aiat  we  should  have  a  minister  of  the 
household,  and  one  of  public  amusements. 
And  as  the  business  of  these'  ministers  may 
be  very  extended,  and  as  we  do  not  care 
about  payirfg  any  salary,  we  will  nominate 
to  this  post  two,  three,  four  persons ;  in  short, 
all  the  ipanagersof  the  festival,  to  whom  we 
shall  hereafter  give  our  special  orders." 

All  were  completely  satisfied  "with  this 
arrangement  of  the  newly-chosen  royal  pair, 
and  all  seemed  inclined  to  pay  strict  obedi- 
ence. The  first  order  was,  that  a  walk 
should  be  taken  to  the  Marienberg,  near  the 
ci'y,  commanding  a  charming  view  of  the 
valley  of  the  Elbe,  and  that  could  be  ascended 
without  any  great  difiiculty.  During  this 
promenade,  other  things  were  to  be  arranged. 
By  couples  they  set  out.  It  was  a  gay  pro- 
cession, which  lightly  and  fflily  moved,  first 
through  the- streets  of  the  t6wn,  between  the 
gossipping  inhabitants,  and  then  over  the 
soft  .grass  and  through  the  shadowy  bushes. 
Shawls,  ribbons  and  dresses  waved  in  the 
breeze;  the'light-coloi-ed  parasols  shone 
through  the  green  hedges.  Following  the 
windings  of  the  mountainous  path,  they  al- 
ready began  to  ascend  the  mountain,  between 
the  vines  and  hedges  which  cross  it.  A 
treble  line  was  seen  moving  one  over  the 
ottier,  until  higher  up,  at  a  turn  of  the  road, 
they  disappeared  in  the  dark  copses  which 
crown  the  summit.  Erlhofen,  with  the 
Countess  on  his  arm,  walked  at  the  head  of 
bis  people ;  from  time  to  tiine  he  stopped, 
partly  to  repose,  partly  to  point  out  the  beau- 
tiful views  in  the  valley.  The  summit  was 
soon  gained,  j^^mmanded  a  view,  alti^ugh 
not  exjtensive,  most  charming,  of  the  neigh- 
boring country.  The  streets  of  the  town 
Were,  seen,  as  if  they  stood  upon  a  tower. 

"  From  this  point  we  can  easily  overlook 
our  monarchy,"  said  the  Baron,  pointing  to 
the  inn  by  the  market ;  "  we  can  also  connt 


our  army,  which,  in  the  form  of  a  fortress  dt 
carriages,  is  arranged  there  on  the  market- 
side  of  the  town.  The  valley  of  the  Elbe, 
the  beauty  of  which  is  to  charm  us  to-day, 
undoubtedly  now  belongs  to  us,  and  I  cannot 
imagine  what  could  be  said  against  oar  gov- 
erning the  sun,  which  will  lo-day  warm  ftie 
air  for  us^— the  moon,  to  whom  I  have  given 
a  particular  command  to  be  ready  to  light 
us  home."  • 

"  The  most  beautiful  part  of  our  dominion," 
said  the  Countess,  looking  graciously  around, 
"  seems  to  me  the  living  part  of  it." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Erlhofen,  "  your 
majesty  is  right!  When.  I  look  upon  our 
subjects  here,  I  can  almost  assert  that  no 
monarch  of  Europe  reigns  over  so  civilized, 
patriotic  and  obedient  a  people.  For  although 
iu/our  dominion  we  are  wanting  the  many 
usual  arrangements,  we  have  the  best 
grounds  of  excuse.  We  have  no  police,  be- 
cause we  have  no  vagabonds;  a  lawyer 
could  not  live  among  us,  because  no  l4,w- 
suits  will  occur  where  all  are  tranquil ;  poor- 
houses  we  have  none,  because  there  are  no 
beggars  but  such  as  might  pray  for  a  kiss, 
to  which  we  trust  that  in  time  of  need  we 
might  in  this  respect  lend  a  generous  ear." 

"  Not  too  hasty,  dear  monarch,"  replied 
the  Countess,  smiling ;  "  do  not  let  us  too 
early  praise  the  good'  of  our  empire.  Who 
knows  whether  quarrels  and  revolutions  will 
not  soon  break  out  ?  At  least  your  last  decla- 
ration will  make  the  creation  of  a  court  neces- 
sary— a  court  of  love,  that  is  to  say." 

*' There  we  will  preside  together,  queen," 
cried  the  Baron,  with  animati6n  ;  "  and  I 
wish  that  a  complaining  couple  already  stood 
before  us." 

Holding  such  converse,  the  most  charming 
spot  had  been  selected,  where  in  the  shadow 
of  the  thicket  soft  moss  afiforded  a  pleasant 
place  of  repose.  The  king  gave  the  law, 
that 'all  his  subjects  should  make  themselves 
comfortable,  and  obediently  they  fulfilled  his 
command. 

"I  think,"  began  the  monarch,  "  we  should  ' 
ari:ange  our  amusements  partly  after  our 
powers,  partly  after  the  hints  which  nature 
itself  will  give  us.  In  these  calm  hours  of 
the  forenoon,*  when  the  sun  rises  higher  and 
higher,  and  the  warmth  increases  every  mo- 
ment, who  cannot  while  reposing  enjoy  the 
beautiful?  tlie  afternoon  only  is  suited  for 
active  amusements,  when  at  every  moment 
a  cool  breath  of  air  fans  us.  Now  conversa- 
tion and  jokes  will  be  the  most  pleasant  for 
us  ;  for  then  we  shall  have  time  to  listen  to 
the  agreeable  humming  of  the  insects,  to 
turn  our  eyes  upwards  to  the  top  of  the  trees 
as  they  hardly  move  by  the  slight  breeze, 
quietly  whisper  among  each  other,  «ind  let 
the  sunbeams  and  the  bine  sky  mutually  - 


* 


*:* 


96 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


{ 


you  flowers  enough  to  strew  over  the  stairs, 
and  is  the  entrance  bountifully  decorated 
with  wreaths  ?" 

"  I  think  so,  your  honor,"  replied  the  host; 
"  and  not  only  the  entrance,  but  the  dining- 
saloon  also,  as  well  as  it  was  in  our  power." 
.  During  these  words  they  ascended  the 
steps  and  examined  the  upper  part  of  the 
building,  which  had  been  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  guests.  Gorgeous  rooms 
could  certainly  not  be  expected ;  for  four 
roughly-white-washed  walls,  on  which  the 
low  ceiling  was  almost  painfully  pressing, 
half  broken  doors  painted  with  a  I'eddish 
brown  color,  small  dim  windows  set  in  lead, 
and  a  floor  from  bad  boards  somewhat  un- 
even, could  not  certainly  form  a  brilliant 
palace ;  and  with  the  exception  of  some 
stucco-work  on  the  ceiling,  there  was  nothing 
that  could  be  called  architectural  about  it. 
But  the  host  had  hung  large  wreaths  of  oak 
branches  0(i  the  doors,  between  which  also 
some  flowers  appeared ;  the  taste  displayed 
in  the  arrangement  was  certainly  not  the 
most  happy — still  it  had  a  gay  rustic  aspect; 
green  leaves  and  flowers  always  look  pretty, 
even  if  they  are  not  artistically  arranged. 
The  saloon  was  decorated  in  the  same  style 
as  the  doors ;  along  the  white  walls  the  green 
full  oak,  wreaths  were  arranged  in  charm- 
ingly-turned arches  about  a  foot  beneath  the 
ceiling.  On  entering,  the  gentlemen  looked 
around,  and  then  gave  the  host  a  thundering 
"  Bravo  !"  for  a  merry  heart  is  satisfied  with 
all  that  tries  to  accord  with  its  humor. 

The  young  men  hurried  down,  ordered  the 
stairs  and  hall  of  the  house  to  be  strewn 
with  flowers,  and  then  idly  placed  themsplves 
at  the  door  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  others. 

In  all  the  windows  round,  the  inhabitants 
of  the  town  were  to  be  seen  ;  a  lot  of  children 
had  assembled  around  the  house.  Although 
they  were  mostly  poor  and  half-naked,  still 
joy  shone  from  all  their  eyes.  The  host 
wanted  to  chase  them  away,  that  the  noble 
company,  as  he  said,  might  not  be  molested  ; 
but  Heilborn  prevented  it,  saying  : 

"  Leave  the  children  to  their  amusement ; 
they  do  not  interrupt  ours.  If  others  are 
seen  to  be  merry,  then  one's-self  becomes 
more  so;  therefore  let  the  children  jump 
about,  cry  and  laugh,  and  clap  their  hands 
as  much  as  they  please.  We  shall  see  who 
will  be  the  gayest,  they  or  we." 

The  first  carriage  now  drove  over  the 
rugged  pavement  of  the  town ;  all  heads 
turned  towards  the  corner  where  the  street 
from  the  city  gate  opens  to  the  market.  A 
shout  burst  from  the  children  as  the  white 
horses  which  drew  the  first  carriage  emerged 
from  the  street. 

"  Let  us  imitate  the  children,"  exclaimed 
Heilborn.    "  Let  us  salute  them." 


With  these  words  he  drew  his  handker- 
chief from  his  pocket  and  waved  it  in  the 
air.  The  others  imitated  his  action,  and  the 
children  redoubled  their  acclamations.  The 
Countess,  Mary,  the  Captain  and  Erlhofen 
were  in  the  first  carriage,  which  was  imme- 
diately followed  by  the  others.  The  younj* 
men  hastened  to  the  carriages  to  assist  the 
ladies  in  alighting. 

"  Here  we  are,"  cried  Erlhofen,  gaily ; 
"  and  behold  a  whole  crowd  of  the  people  to 
receive  us  !  This  is  worthy,  this  is  right ; 
I  am  pleased  with  this,  my  companions  in 
this  Olympic  festival." 

At  the  same  time  he  drew  out  a  long  green 
purse,  took  a  handful  of  small  silver  and 
large  copper  coin,  and  threw  it  among  the 
crowd,  exclaiming  aloud : 

"  Panem  et  circenses .'" 

He  then  jumped  down,  and  hastened 
through  the  door  after  the  ladies,  who  had 
preceded  him. 

Carriage  after  carriage  now  drove  up,  and 
figures  in  beautiful  summer  attire  jumped 
out  and  passed  through  the  door  of  the  inn. 
The  abundantly-strewn  flowers  drew  almost 
from  every  lip  a  thankful  comment.  Finally 
the  last  charming  foot  lightly  stepped  from 
the  carriage.  In  the  saloon  and  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms,  Erlhofen,  assisted  by  the  Captain, 
Heilborn  and  the  other  managers,  were  occu- 
pied meanwhile  in  procuring  seats  for  the 
ladies,  and  in  assisting  them  to  put  away 
their  shawls,  cloaks,  parasols,  reticules  and 
all  those  thousand  trifles  the  ornaments  of 
ladies. 

When  the  first  confusion  had  in  some  de- 
gree subsided,  and  order  became  restored,  the 
first  question  put  was,  what  shall  be  done 
now?  Erlhofen  showed  some  inchnation  to 
ascend  again  the  oratorial  pulpit,  and  deliver 
a  Ciceronian  speech,  but  the  Captain  inter- 
rupted him,  saying : 

"  A  state  must  be  governed,  and  in  critical 
moments  even  a  republic  must  have  a  dicta^- 
tor.  If  vve^  discuss  and  vote  about  every- 
thing, we  shall  probably  lose  so  much  time 
that,  when  the  best  of  a  thousand  different  pro- 
jects has  been  chosen,  we  shall  want  leisure 
for  its  execution.  I  therefore  propose  that 
we  elect  a  king  and  a  queen,  whom  we  will 
obey  to-day.  These  can  then,  if  necessary, 
nominate  their  ministers  ;  in  short,  take  the 
government  of  the  whole  upon  their  shoul- 
ders." 

This  proposal  was  carried  by  universal 
acclamation,  and  the  election  of  a  monarch 
commenced,  the  first  choice  being  left  to  the 
ladies.  Erlhofen  was  at  once  elected,  with 
the  liberty  of  choosing  a  queen,  whom  he 
should  raise  to  the  throne  by  his  side.  With 
a  proud  mien,  the  crowntd-head  stepped 
within  the  circle,  casting  kind,  but  inquiring 


Bsni^ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA' 


97 


glances  aronnd  upon  the  fairer  portion  of  his 
sabjecta.  Then  with  solemn  steps  he  ap- 
proached the  Countess  Micelska,  bent  a  knee 
before  her,  and  said  : 

"  She  whom  fate  has  led  hither  must  be 
my  consort ;  may  she  share  with  me  the  most 
envied  throne  of  Europe,  for  it  is  the  least 
troublesome  one." 

Smiling,  the  Countess  rose  and  gave  him 
her  hand,  as  she  replied,  graciously  : 

"  I  shall  reign,  but  so  as  befits  a  woman, 
by  persua^sions,  and  obedience  to  the  orders 
of  my  royal  partner." 

Loud  applause  greeted  the  royal  couple, 
who  immediately  entered  upon  their  duties 
by  nominating  a  cabinet. 

"  Justice,"  said  Erlhofen,  "  we  shall  ad- 
minister ourselves.  A  secretary  of  war  we 
hope  we  shall  not  need ;  finances  will  not  be 
arranged  before  the  evening  ;  but  it  is  neces- 
sary that  we  should  have  a  minister  of  the 
household,  and  one  of  public  amusements!. 
And  as  the  business  of  these  ministers  may 
be  very  extended,  and  as  we  do  not  care 
about  paying  any  salary,  we  will  nominate 
to  this  post  two,  three,  four  persons ;  in  short, 
all  the  ipanagers-of  the  festival,  to  whom  we 
shall  hereafter  give  our  special  orders." 

All  were  completely  satisfied  with  this 
arrangement  of  the  newly-chosen  royal  pair, 
and  all  seemed  inclined  to  pay  strict  obedi- 
ence. The  first  order  was,  that  a  walk 
should  be  tnken  to  the  Marienberg,  near  the 
city,  commanding  a  charming  view  of  the 
valley  of  the  Elbe,  and  that  could  be  ascended 
without  any  great  difficulty.  During  this 
promenade,  other  things  were  to  be  arranged. 
JBy  couples  they  set  out.  It  was  a  gay  pro- 
cession, which  lightly  and  gaily  moved,  first 
through  the  streets  of  the  town,  between  the 
gossipping  inhabitants,  and  then  over  the 
soft  grass  and  through  the  shadowy  bushes. 
Shawls,  ribbons  and  dresses  waved  in  the 
breeze;  the « light-colored  parasols  shone 
through  the  green  hedges.  Following  the 
windings  of  the  mountainous  path,  they  al- 
ready began  to  ascend  the  mountain,  between 
the  vines  and  hedges  which  cross  it.  A 
treble  line  was  seen  moving  one  over  the 
other,  until  higher  up,  at  a  turn  of  the  road, 
they  disappeared  in  the  dark  copses  which 
crown  the  summit.  Erlhofen,  with  the 
Countess  on  his  arm,  walked  at  the  head  of 
bis  people ;  from  time  to  time  he  stopped, 
partly  to  repose,  partly  to  point  out  the  beau- 
tiful views  in  the  valley.  The  summit  was 
soon  gained.  Itcommanded  a  view,  althfugh 
not  extensive,  most  charming,  of  the  neigh- 
boring country.  The  streets  of  the  town 
were,  seen,  as  if  they  stood  upon  a  tower. 

"  From  this  point  we  can  easily  overlook 
our  monarchy,"  said  the  Baron,  pointing  to 
the  inn  by  the  market ;  "  we  can  also  count 


our  army,  which,  in  the  form  of  a  fortress  of 
carriages,  is  arranged  there  on  the  market- 
side  of  the  town.  The  valley  of  the  Elbe, 
the  beauty  of  which  is  to  charm  us  to-day, 
undoubtedly  now  belongs  to  us,  and  I  cannot 
imagine  what  could  be  said  against  oar  gov- 
erning the  sun,  which  will  to-day  warm  the 
air  for  us^— the  moon,  to  whom  1  have  given 
a  particular  command  to  be  ready  to  light 
us  home."  ■ 

"  The  most  beautiful  part  of  our  dominion," 
said  the  Countess,  looking  graciously  around, 
"  seems  to  me  the  living  part  of  it." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Erlhofen,  "  your 
majesty  is  right!  When.  I  look  upon  our 
subjects  here,  I  can  almost  assert  that  no 
monarch  of  Europe  reigns  over  so  civilized, 
patriotic  and  obedient  a  people.  For  although 
in.our  dominion  we  are  wanting  the  many 
usual  arrangements,  we  have  the  best 
grounds  of  excuse.  We  have  no  police,  be- 
cause we  have  no  vagabonds;  a  lawyer 
could  not  live  among  us,  because  no  law- 
suits will  occur  where  all  are  tranquil;  poor- 
houses  we  have  none,  because  there  are  no 
beggars  but  such  as  might  pray  for  a  kiss, 
to  which  we  trust  that  in  time  of  need  we 
might  in  this  respect  lend  a  generous  ear." 

"  Not  too  hasty,  dear  monarch,"  replied 
the  Countess,  smiling ;  "  do  not  let  us  too 
early  praise  the  good'  of  our  empire.  Who 
knows  whether  quarrels  and  revolutions  will 
not  soon  break  out  ?  At  least  your  last  decla- 
ration will  make  the  creation  of  a  court  neces- 
sary— a  court  of  love,  that  is  to  say." 

"  There  we  will  preside  together,  queen," 
cried  the  Baron,  with  animation;  "and  I 
wish  that  a  complaining  couple  already  stood 
before  us." 

Holding  such  converse,  the  most  charming 
spot  had  been  selected,  where  in  the  shadow 
of  the  thicket  soft  moss  afforded  a  pleasant 
place  of  repose.  The  king  gave  the  law, 
that'all  his  subjects  should  make  themselves 
comfortable,  and  obediently  they  fulfilled  his 
command. 

"  I  think,"  began  the  monarch,  "  we  should 
arrange  our  amusements  partly  after  our 
powers,  partly  after  the  hints  which  nature 
itself  will  give  us.  In  these  calm  hours  of 
the  forenoon,' when  the  sun  rises  higher  and 
higher,  and  the  warmth  increases  every  mo- 
ment, who  cannot  while  reposing  enjoy  the 
beautiful  ?  the  afternoon  only  is  suited  for 
active  amusements,  when  at  every  moment 
a  cool  breath  of  air  fans  us.  Now  conversa- 
tion and  jokes  will  be  the  most  pleasant  for 
us  ;  for  then  we  shall  have  time  to  listen  to 
the  agreeable  humming  of  the  insects,  to 
turn  our  eyes  upwards  to  the  top  of  the  trees 
as  they  hardly  move  by  the  slight  breeze, 
quietly  whisper  among  each  other,  and  let 
the  sunbeams  and  the  blue  sky  mutually 


*   • 


'T'T^i.-r'w^W 


98 


•     EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


glance^through  their  voluptuous  verdure.  A 
quiet,  refreshing  play  I  am  agreeable  to,  but 
none  of  those  wild  games  in  which  we  run 
to  lose  our  breath,  which,  especially  for  a 
majesty,  would  be  unfit." 

All  were  of  his  opinion,  and  at  the  request 
of  the  ladies  the  Countess  proposed  a  game 
of  forfeits.     This  created  many  jokes,  for  the 
king  not  only  proposed,  but  even   ordered 
many  liberties  in  the  redeeming  of  the  for- 
feits.    When  this  was  ended,  a  general  de- 
parture was  ordered,  to  find  a  new  place  for 
settlement,  as  the  sun  began  to  burn  incon- 
veniently, and    the   thin   foliage   could   no 
longer  prevent  his  eyes  from  exercising  their 
strength.     The  monarch  sent  his  ministers 
as   messengers  on  all  sides  to  discover  a 
pleasant  retreat.     After  a  few  moments  the 
Captain  returned,  and  asserted  to  have  found 
a  place   which  had  all  the  appearance  of 
making  a  pleasaot  resting  place.     All  fol- 
lowed him,  and  he  conducted  the  company 
down  the  hill ;  then  he  turned  into  a  foot- 
path which  ran  along  the  mountain,  and  soon 
entered  the  darkened  forest,  where  tall  bushes 
afforded  the  coolest  shade.     From  the  rock  a 
clear   fountain  sprang  out,  which  emerged 
into  a  basin  formed  by  the  water  itself,  and 
then  overflowing  its  bank,  gaily  bounced  into 
the  valley.     The  declivity  of  the  mountain 
formed  the  most  comfortable  seats  ;  the  roots 
of  an   old   beech   tree   covered    with   moss 
served  as  an  elevated  seat,  admirably  suited 
for  a  throne  for  the  royal  couple.     Still,  in 
spite  ofTiie  dark  forest,  the  place  commanded 
a  beautiful  view ;  for  a  high  arch  in  the  trees, 
formed  by  the  foliage  and  branches,  permitted 
the  eye  to  see  tlie  brilliant  mirror  of  the 
waters  of  >he  Elbe,  over  which  the  old  castle 
Schreckenstein  rose  on  its  black  rock.     Op- 
posite, the  view  opened  into  the  valley,  from 
which  the  swans  upon  the  stream  shone  like 
spots  of  silver.     The  beauty  of  the  place  sur- 
prised  the   company  so   much  that  it 'was 
greeted  with  a  universal  shout.     The  mon- 
arch seated  himself  on  the  soft  throne  ;  the 
queen  took  her  place  at  his  side,  the  rest 
arranging  themselves  in  a  semi-circle  on  the 
declivity  of  the  mountain  bv  pairs  on  the 
turf. 

"  This  place  is  too  beautiful  even  for  play," 
commenced  the  queen.  "  It  is  almost  too  sa- 
cred to  be  the  scene  of  frivolous  jokes.  But 
it  would  be  charming  to  listen  to  any  story- 
teller or  singer,  who  could  give  us  informa- 
tion about  the  wonders  of  this  valley.  Have 
none  of  our  subjects  spoken  to  the  spirit  of 
this  rock  ?  Has  the  mountain-spirit  or  the 
charming  nymph  of  the  stream  appeared  to 
none  of  them  ?  Has  she  addressed  none  of 
our  knights,  who  in  hunting  lost  himself  in 
the  mysterious  darkness  of  the  forest  ?  Has 
she  offered  to  none  thirsting  the  refreshing 


cup  ?  Has  she  never  loosened  the  helmet  for 
a  loved  one,  and  invited  him  to  repose  bis 
head   in  her  lap  ?    And  has  she  told  none 
of  her  castle  deep  in  the  bosom  of  the  rocks 
or  under  the  silvery  coral  of  the  waters  ? 
Has    she  sung  to  none  sweet  songs,  ac- 
companied by  the  rushing  of  the  waves  and 
trees  to  charm  him  into  a  sweet  slumber  7 
Has  she  introduced  none  into  her  palaces  and 
permitted  them  to  look  at  the  dances  of  the 
nymphs  and  their  sisters  ?     Or  there  is,  per- 
haps, a  happy  one  among  us  whom  she  has 
drawn  with  her  into  the  mysterious  grotto, 
there  in  charming  solitude  to  caress  him  ? 
Alas  !  I  fear  the  time  of  wonders  js  over — 
that  there  is  hardly  a  poet  left  to  tell  us  of 
those  golden  days  when  gods  made  free  with 
mortals  !     If  there   is   one  among   us  who 
feels  that  the  old  dreams  have  not  yet  vanish- 
ed—>-that  the  kind  beings  whom  our  ancestors 
knew  are  still  wandering  around,  although 
frightened  into  the  deepest  seclusion  by  the 
unholy  noise  and  commotion  of  the  world, 
let  him  stand  forth  !" 

All  remained  silent,  but  all  smiled  at  the 
pleasant  manner  in  which  the  Countess  had 
thrown  a  bait  for  a  story.  Finally  a  young 
man  of  about  twenty,  who,  by  his  modest, 
almost  girl-like,  behavior,  as  well  as  by  his 
handsome,  fair,  curled  head,  and  the  tender 
blush  and  roundness  of  his  cheeks  had  alrea- 
dy been  remarked  by  all,  rose  and  said  : 

"  I  am,  perhaps,  the  youngest  of  the  whole 
company,  and  I  have  no  claim  upon  their  at- 
tention ;  yet  I  have  been  bred  up  among 
these  mountains,  and  I  know  many  a  beauti- 
ful legend  which  lives  among  the  people 
here." 

"O,  tell,  quickly,  tell !"  cried  many  voices, 
interrupting  this  introduction,  which  had  been 
uttered  in  a  blushing  and  bashful  manner. 
But  the  Countess  rose  and  said  : 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  be  so  obedient  to  the 
commands  of  your  sovereign.  Let  the  nar- 
rator occupy  a  place  where  he  can  be  seen 
and  heard  by  all.  Take  your  seat,  sir,  on 
my  throne,  so  long  as  your  story  lasts." 

The  Countess  had  not  finished  speaking 
when  Erihofen  jumped  up  and  exclaimed : 

"  May  heaven  forbid  my  ever  seeing  my 
queen  derived  of  her  throne !  But  the 
poets  and  the  singers  are  the  real  kings — 
for  they  govern  hearts,  especially  those  uf 
the  ladies.  He  may,  Uierefore,  occupy 
my  throne  and  sit  at  the  side  of  the  queen, 
whose  charming  presence  "will  doubless  in- 
spire him." 

Ja\  applauded  this  resolution,  and  the 
youth,  Berno,  took  his  seat  at  the  side  of  the 
Countess.  After  a  short  pause  he  told  a  tale 
which  had  been  composed  by  himself  about 
the  traditions  of  these  mountains.  It  was 
the  story  of  one  of  the  favorites  of  the  in- 


1\ 


>,*•; 


;♦■  # 


^i 


1 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


habitants  of  the  mountains  and  streams,  who 
eains  the  love  of  a  virgin,  who  lives  in  the 
depths  of  the  mouatain<lake,  and  swears  to 
her  eternal  fidelity.  But  he  has' to  submit  to 
hard  trials, — mysterious  powers  begirt  him 
everywhere.  The  object  of  bis  heart  arms 
him  with  a  secret,  wonderful  talisman 
againiit  the  influence  of  the  spells,  yet  he  is 
blinded,  because  faithless,  and  suddenly  sees 
himself  abandoned  by  all  the  deceiving  ima- 
ges of  his  fancy  aed  thrown  into  the  deepest 
misery.  Deopairing,  he  ends  his  life  by 
throwing  hiiii^f  into  the  lake,  at -the  bottom 
of  which  is  the  crystal  palace  of  his  love. 
Since  that  time  its  blue  waves  have  become 
dim  and  gloomy,  and  even  the  clearest  sky 
looks  into  the  depths  of  -its  waters  only  as  in 
4  black  mirror.  ,      . 


•CtlAPTER  XXXIV. 

When  Berno  had  finished  his  story  all 
minds  were  in  a  certain,  fearful  excitement. 
His  representation  had  been  animated,  and 
h\a  auditors  in  so  close  proximity  to  the 
scene  that  they  looked  upon  the  land:Kape 
with  the  samefeelii^s  with  which  we  regard 
the  spot  which  history  informs  us  v/as  once 
the  scene  et'  a  greatand  decisive  event. 

"Is  there  really  such  a  lake  near  here  ?" 

With  this  question  the  Countess  first  inter- 
rupted the  universal  silence, 

"  It  is  but  little  known,"  replied  Berno, 
"  and  to  tell  the  truth,  hardly  worth  visiting  if 
it  were  notfor  the  sake  of  the  tradition.  But 
es  it  often  happens,  our  fore^thers,  spite  of 
their  romantic  talent  f©r  poetry,  do  not  seem 
-to  have  developed  so  much  taste  for  natural 
beauties  regarding  the  spots  to  which  they 
attached  tlieir  traditions  As  might  have  been 
■expected  from  such  poetic  minds." 

"  Thii3  accusation  appears  to  me  Jiet  alto- 
gether ^ust,"  observed  Mary.;  "  for  we  find 
many  traces -indicating  that  eur  fathers  have 
very  clearly  felt  the  beautiful, .imposing,  and 
solemn  in  nature.  It  is  proved  by  the  names 
of  the  prominent  mountain-rocks  and  preci- 
pices. Secondly,  the  tradition  certainly  was 
jiot  entirely  A^oluntary,  and  if  even  it  was 
partly  created  by  the  place  itself,  yet  it  must 
have  demanded  an  event,  an  action,  so  that 
it  might  be  regarded  as  a  child  of  the  action 
and  place  combined.  And  how  «ften  de  we 
find  that  the  -scene  of  an  action  stands  in  the 
closest  connexion  with  the  action  itself." 

"  You  are  certainly  in  the  right,"  replied 
Berno,  with  a  slight  blush.  "  Yet  we  often 
fiod  the  finest  traditions  loca^d  upon  places 


of  little  importance.   My  tale  is  one  of  these, 
and  -serves  for  an  example." 

"  Be  this  as  it  may,"  said  the  Countess, 
"your  story  has  furnished  us  an  agreeable 
hour.  I,  as  monarch,  have  to  fulfil  the  duty 
of  rewarding  the  poet  of  this,  my  ^:ourt  of 
love,  and  this  shall  be  done  in  a  truly  royal 
manner.  The  story  has  grown  out  of  the 
•pure  soil  of  nature,  it  shall  be  rewarded  by 
the,gift3  which  she  produces.  -It  commences 
in  an  afiecting  manner,  exhibiting  fidelity  as 
the  real  soul  of  love,  and  thereby  especially 
protecting  our  sex,  which  has  to  suffer  so 
much  from  the  faithlessness  of  men.  It  is 
therefi^re  but  justice  that  female  hands  should 
reward  our  loving  subject.  It  is  my  com- 
mand, therefore,  that  all  the  young  ladies  of 
my  coupt  go  and  .pick  the  finest  flpwers  of 
the  field.  On  their  return  we  will  ourselves 
choose  three  of  them  to  wind  a  wreath  of 
these  flowers,  and  then  chance,  shall  decide 
which  of  the  three  is  to  crown  the  poet  and 
be  his  companion  as  long  as  our  stwereignty 
lasts." 

Univer.sal  -applause  was  the  response  to 
this  order.  The  gentlemen  gaily  clapped 
their  hands  and  praised  aloud  the  Queen, 
who  knew  so  well  how  to  govern  her  court 
of  Love.  With  comic  .pathos  Er-lhofen  seiz- 
ed a  branch  as  sceptre,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Hark  ye  !  ray  people  !  J  hereby  give  my 
solemn  sanction  to  the  decision  of  my  royal 
consort.  Go,  therefore,  ye  virgins  and  do 
not  return  until  you  have  deprived  tiie  do- 
minions of  our  empire  of  their  finest  deco- 
rations." 

The  young  Jadies  now  jumped  up  and  ran 
into  the  green  forest  to  commence  picking 
flowers.  Many  of  the  men  were  inclined  to 
accompany  them,  but  this  -the  Q,ueen  firmly 
forbid.  £re  long  the  ladies  had  filled  their 
baskets  and  returned  to  the  company.  They 
poured  out  their  supply  on  the  turf,  and  the 
queen  looked  at  them  With  scrutinizing  plea- 
sure. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  Now  I  shall 
nominate  those  who  are  to  wind  the  wreath." 

lier  choice  fell  upon  Mary,  Lodoiska,  and 
Louisa,  the  pretty  daughter  of  a  respectable 
man  of  'I'oplitz.  The  girls  sat  down  and 
began  their  wori ;  the  garland  soon  became 
filled  imd  rounded  under  their  soft  fingers. 
When  it  wasiinished  the  Countess  took  three 
flowers,  a  wild  rose,  a  daisy,  and  a  violet, 
which,  although  late  in  the  year,  had  been 
found  Oft  s^  shadowy  place.  The  ey^s  of  the 
poet  weie  tied — the  Countess  gave  a  flower 
to  ea«ch  of  the  three  young  ladies,  and  desir- 
ed Berno  to  make  a  choice.  He  named  the 
rose,  and  Lodoiska  became  his  companLoa. 
She  was  to  press  the  full,  fresh,  fragrast 
wreath  upon  Berno's  fair  curling  head.^— ' 
Bashfully,  and  with  a  slight  blush,  sha  took 


%^- 


* 


^IPP 


IM 


ETGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


it  Bemo  bent  his  knee  before  her,  and  with 
beating  heart  received  the  recompense  for  hi« 
poetical  talent. 

"May  this  wreath  give  you  as  much  plea- 
sure," said  Lodoiska,  "  as  your  beautiful 
story  has  caused  in  our  hearts." 

At  these  words,  the  blush  again  vanished 
from,  her  eheek,  and  only  that  slight  smile 
remained  which  gave  so  captivating  a  charm 
to  lier  handsome  features.  Bemo  rose,  took 
her  hand,  kissed  it  with  farvor,  and  replied. in 
the  words  of  the  poet :. 

"  Let  my  reward  not  b©  your  punishment !" 
He  now  gave  her  his  arm  and  conducted  her 
to  a  seat,  where  he  sat  down  at  her  side. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  had  risen  nearly  to  the 
meridian.  It  was  time  to  return  if  the  din- 
ner was. not  to  be  spoiled.  King  Erlhofen 
prociaimfed  this  to  be  the  most  important,  bu- 
siness of  his  empire,  and  vowed  that  he  who 
should,  exercise  disobedience  or  treason  on 
this  point,  siiouW  be  severely  punished  for 
his  oflence.  Obediently  his  consort  took  his 
arm  and  the  procession  moved  downwards. 

The  dinnes  waa  ready  ;.  in  a,  rough-and- 
tumble  manner,  all  took 'their  seats  to  partake 
of  it.  Erlhofen  and  the  Countess  presided, 
as  was  their  due,  and  the  Monarch  gave 
many  different  speeches  upon  the  merits  of 
good  eating  and  drinking. 

The  warmth  in  the  saloon,  although  the 
windows  were  open,  soon  became  se  oppres- 
sive,, that  the  younger  part  of  the  company 
began  to  hng  for  a  change.  It  wa&  with 
joy,  therefore,  that.  Heilborn  and  Amheim 
were  received,  when  they  came  in  and  an- 
nounced that  two  boats  were  in  readiness  <wi 
the  Elbe  to  take  the  company- to  the  Schreck- 
enstein.  Erihofen  would  willingly  Iwive  re- 
inained  at  the  table  some  time  longer,  espe- 
cially as  the  supply  of  champagne  was  not 
yet  near  exhausted,  but  the  young  people 
were  not  to  be  kept  ba«k;  even  the  roy4l 
authority  itself  had  no  power  over  them. 
All  broke  up  gaily,  the  couples  forming  as 
before,  and  the  cortege  set  out  on  the  way  to 
the  banks  of  the  river. 

The  boats,^  with  their  gaily  waving 
streamers,  made  so  beautiful  an  appearance, 
that  the  best  hope  was.  entertained  for  the 
pleasantest  of  trips.  A  fine  band  of  wind- 
instruments — Bohemian  nwuntainesrs — was 
heard  from  a  boat  which  had  been  hired  spe- 
cially for  ihe  occasion.  The  boatmen-  in 
handsome  dresses,  with  ribbons  and  flowers 
on  ;heur  boats,  greeted  the  company  with  k 
vociferous  hurrah  I  Planks  were  thrown  to 
the  boats,  over  which  the  ladies  tripped 
gracefully,  tlie  couples  took  their  seats  on 
the  benches,  the  music  struck  up  a  gay 
quickstep,  and  under  the  joyful  acclamations 
of  the  people  who  had  collected  on  the  shore. 
they  pushed  off  up  the  stream. 


Now,  only,  after  having  gained  the  mrddle* 
of  the  river,  one  could  look  deep  into  the 
majestic  forest  valley,  out  of  which  the  Elbe 
flows.  Behind,  the  town  gaily  rose  on  the 
green  shore,  reflecting  itself  in  the  mirror  of 
Ihe  waves;  in  front,  rose  dark  wood-clad 
mountains,  hanging  steep  down  into  the 
stream,  and  casting  their  dark  image  upon 
the  mirror  of  the  deep.  To  the  left,  the  view 
was  bounded  by  the  black  rock  of  the 
Schreckenstien,  which  rising  borixontally 
from  its  companions,  stretches  its  top  far  out 
over,  the  waves,  so  that  the  Stalls  and  ruins 
of  the  towers  atits  summit  seem  to  be  hang- 
ing in  the  skies;  A  fresh  breeze  which  blew 
out  of  the  valley,  made  the  oars  unnecessa- 
ry ;,  the  sails  could  now  be  set.  Swiftly  and 
smooth  the  banks  passed  before  the  eyes  of 
the  tourists,  showing  to  them  the  charms  of 
a  continually,  clianging  picture.  Now  they 
passed  under  a  high  mountain,  whicli  cast  its 
broad  shadow  across  the  stream,  now  the 
boats  danced  on  tlie  silvery  .waves,  shining 
^n  tlie  rays  of  the  sun,. while  the  banks  lay 
in  the  green  twilight  of  the  forest,  casting 
their  image  into  tlie  gaily-playing  waters. 
Now  the  bed  of  thestraam  became  narrower;: 
foaming  and  roaring  i^  rushed  over  and  be- 
tween rocks  ;  im>w  again  it  became  broader, 
transformed  into  a  quiet  lake  in  the  depth  of 
which  the  clouds  oalml^assed.  In  an  hour 
the  destination,  the  Scffeokenstein  and  its 
rocky  castle,  were  reached. 

"  1  thought  the  rock  was  higher,"  said  Lo- 
doiska to  Berno,  while  standing  on  the  bank,, 
she  looked  up  to  the  spires  of  the  towers. 
"  It  appeared  from  afar  macb  more  majestic. 
And  it  is  the  first  steep  rock  I  have  ever  seen^ 
for  in  Poland  the  country  is  nearly  all  level 
— it  has  only  forests  and  bushes." 

"  Only  let  us  ascend  to  the  top,"  replied 
Berno,  "then  you  will  soon  find  lhat4he  rock 
is  not  so  very  trifling  ;  certainly  it.  looks  so 
now,  contrasted  with  the  mountains  which 
rise  much  higher  behind." 

Lodoiska  still  kept  her  thoughtful  gaze- 
upon  the  proudly  overhanging  top. 

"  Mountainous  countries  are  beautiful," 
she  said  after  a  short  pause.  "  Poland  has 
also  mountains,  but  only  in  the  southern  part 
where  the  Garpathfans  rise.  I  have  never 
been  there." 

While  this  couple  thws  conversed,  part  of 
tJie  coropai>y  were  already  asoending  the 
rock. .  Berno  therefore  offered  iiis  arm  to  his 
charming  companion  and  cx)nduotcd  her  up 
the  steep  path.  When  they  had  almost  reach- 
ed the  summit  Lodoislsa  wanted  lo  turn 
round  and  enjoy  the  view,. but  Betn©  prayed 
her  not  to  do  so. 

"  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  you' 
the  surprise  from  the  finest  view  of  the  whole 
scene.    I  would  ask  you  to  close  your  ey«» 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


lOi 


«ttogefheT,  if  the  way  were  not  so  rugged. 
The  ground  is  too  rough,  there  are  too  maay 
«tones  laying  in  the  way,  and  the  path  often 
turns  too  a^uptly  to  permit  walking  with 
-closed  eyes.  Keep  your  eyes  only  on  the 
path  before  you,  do  not  look  either  to  iM 
right  or  left,  then  you  will  soon  be  richly 
rewarded." 

Lodoiska  kindly  promised  this,  and  trusted 
entirely  to  Berno,  who  had  now  taken  her 
hand. 

In  a  short  time  the  summit  was  reached, 
when  Berno  led  Lodoiska  through  tlie  ruins 
io  a  corner  tower,  which  is  approached  by 
ascending  a  few  decayed  steps,  and  then 
]eads  to  a  small  open  space  with  large  bow- 
windows,  where  the  ground  is  seen  under 
the  feet  and  one  seems  to  fly  over  the  mir- 
ror of  the  Elbe.  Before  entering,  Lodoiska. 
-adopting  Berno's  advice,  had  closed  her 
«yes,  and  by  him  she  was  now  brought  to  the 
main  window. 

"Now,"  said  Berno,  "open  your  eyes! 
It  is  now  time  to  look  around." 

"  Gracious  God  !"  exclaimed  Lodoiska, 
stepping  back  with  affright  as  she  caught 
eight  of  the  horrible  abyss  underneath  her. 
£ut  in  one  moment  she  had  recovered  her- 
self, and  although  trembling  still,  she  again 
went  up  to  the  window  and  looked  down, 
without  even  claiming  Berao's  hand.  "What 
fearful  fascination !"  she  said  in  «  sup- 
pressed voice,  "^ow  charmingly  are  the 
beautiful  and  dreadful  mingled  here !" 

"  Well,"  asked  Berno,  "  is  the  rock  high  ? 
iDoes  it  deserve  the  name  of  Schrecken- 
«tein-?" 

"  It  does,  it  does.!  O,  how  charming !" 
<exo)aimed  Lodoiska,  whose  fear  now  gradu- 
ally melted  into  astonishment.  -"  How  small 
-our  boats  look  in  the  gulf  below  i  Even  the 
garden  erf"  the  caetle-ward,  right  under  us, 
looks  only  like  a  tiny  patch.  Only  look  at 
the  swallows,  they  fly  now  as  much  below 
«ts  as  they  generally  fly  above  us." 

"  But  the  birds  of  prey  are  still  high  over 
our  heads,"  observed  Berno,  pointing  at  a 
hawk  flying  across  ^the  valley,  waving  ma- 
jestically its  broad  wings. 

Lodoiska  rai«ed  her  eye.  The  bird  seemed 
to  rest  almost  metionless  on  its  outspread 
"  wings.  Suddenly,  witli  the  swiftness  of  an 
arrow,  he  shot  down  upon  a  herd  of  pigeons, 
flying  far  below  him.  The  frightened  birds 
quickly  dispersed  ;  with  high-beating  wings 
the  hawk  followed  one  of  them.  They  'flew 
towards  the  tower  ;  but  almost  at  the  -eame 
moment  that  the  pigeon  had  reached  the  safe 
retreat,  the  enemy  had  reached  at  and  seized 
the  frightened  bird  with  its  cruel  claws  im-; 
inediately  before  Lodoiska's  eyes.  She  saw 
some  feathers  fly  and  heard  the  fearful  cry 
of  ihe  jsigeoQ.    hi  the.^igbt,  the  hawk  passed 


so  near  the  tower,  that  its  grey  bro«d  wings 
touched<the  «toaes,  but  then,  frightened  at  the 
sight  of  the  people,  without  leaving  bis  prey, 
mounted  again  high  into  the  air. 

The  women — ^for  Mary,  the  Countess,  and 
some  other  ladies  of  the  company  had  mean< 
while  also  entered  the  tower— l«K>ked  on 
this  scene  with  suspense  and  compassion — 
compassion  for  the  frightened  bird,  whom  no 
one  could  help,  and  the  fear  allied  to  sus- 
pense from  the  v/i!d,  hoarsely-crying  bird  of 
prey.  Lodoiska  lool:ed  strangely  pale  and 
trembled  violently.  With  her  face  turned 
away,  she  stepped  back,  and  when  her  eye 
fell  upon  the  Countess,  threw  herself  on  her 
breast,  ejaculating  a  few  words  in  the  Polish 
tongue.  Her  protectress  answered  in  the 
same  language,  but  with  a  kind,  consoling 
expression.  Then  she  turned  to  the  others 
and  said,  as  if  to  seek  an  apology  for  a  slight 
breach  of  etiquette : 

"  She  has  lately  dreamt  of  something  like 
this." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  dream,  a  very  sad  dream,** 
murmured  Lodoiska,  with  a  painful  smile, 
"  but  I  shall  not  think  of  it  more," 


■•■J- 


CHAPTER  XXX\. 

To  expunge  the  Jittle  untoward  circum- 
stance just  related  from  the  memory,  Berno 
proposed  a  resort  to  the  games  of  the  country. 
The  different  entertainments  were  commenc- 
ied, — shooting  with  cross-bows,  throwing 
the  rings,  and  j^aying  of  shuttle-cock,  in 
which  latter  Ledoii^ka  appeared  unsurpass- 
ingly  graceful.  The  sun  had  already  sunk 
towards  the  mountains,  and  his  rays  had 
already  received  that  slight  red  color,  through 
which  in  the  late  afternoon  hours  the  land- 
scape receive  such  a  warm  illumination. 

Not  without  cause  was  it  feared  that  the 
sudden  chill  which  springs  up  at  sundown  in 
mountainous  countries  would  be  felt  by  the 
party.  The  wish  to  return  was  therefore 
generally  expressed,  although  with  regret, 
for  the  sweetest  part  of  the  day  was  now 
passing  before  them.  Still  Arnheim  urged 
that  nothing  would  be  more  charming  than 
the  time  when  the  purple  of  evening  unites  te 
the  silvery  light  of  the  moon,  to  ride  down 
the  waves  of  the  stream  without  moving 
the  oars.  Several  new  voioes  pronounced 
against  a  sudden  departure,  and  Anally  it 
was  decided  to  divide  the  company.  Who- 
ever feared  the  chill  of  the  evening,  was  to 
go  back  in  the  first  boat,  the  others  to  follow 
an  hour  afterwards ;  yet  all  were  agreed  that 
4he  sapper  should  be  taken  together.    After 


1-Of 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDREI>  AND  TWELVE ;  OK, 


this  friendly  settlement  of  opinions,  the  ma- 
jority of  the  company  took  their  way  down 
»he  mountain ;  the  others  to  which  belonged 
the  Royal  couple,  Mary,  Lodoiska,  the  Cap- 
tain and  Berno,  resolved  at  the  instance  of 
the  latter  to  climb  higher  up,  whence  the  sui^ 
prising  beauty  of  the  valley  of  the  Elbe  was 
best  to  be  seen. 

The  way  up  this  ascent  possessed  extraor- 
dinary charms  ;  hidden,  as  if  secretly  wind- 
ing its  course  through  the  forest,  it  gradually 
rose  higher  and- higher  to  the  top.  Between 
the  rustling  fbliage  peeped  the  brilliant  sky ; 
bslow,  lay  the  silvery  streanrr.  Through 
the  larger  spaces  among  the  trees,  the  aspect 
of  the  valley  was  entrancing,  changing  as  it 
did  at  every  turn  of  the  road.  Ghradually  all 
became  still  and' secluded,  the  path  became 
almost  lost  in  ihe  high  grass,  the  soft  fbliage 
disappeared  and  the  darker  shadows  of  a 
pine  forest  received  our  wanderers.  Now 
really  was  the  wilderness  of  the  mountains 
reached.*  No  longer  was  there  a  path,  but 
softly  one  trod  the  carpet  of  moss  spread 
ever  the  ground;  The  air  was  filled  with  the 
balsamic  fragrance  of  herbs.  Berries  were 
here  in  abundance,  the  dark  red  fruit  shining 
brilliantly  from  under  its  cover  of  leaves. 
High  solitary  bushes  of  fern  rose  at  the  side 
©f  the  granite  blocks  from  under  which  liv- 
ing springs  spurted  their  tiny  streams.  A 
solemn  waving  and  rustling  passed  through 
the  tops  of  the  pines.  In  fii;e.  Nature  here 
looked  ijpon  Man  with  her  simple,  majestic 
features. 

Berno,  who  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  country,  turned  with  securky  upon 
a  course  different  totheonc  they  had  follow- 
ed till  nwv,  to  reach  a  high-  rock  lying  in  the 
middle  of  an  open  plain,  of  grass.  This  mass 
of  rock  looked  like  an  immense  sarcophagus, 
the  upper  corner  projecting  da-ringly  over  the 
plain.  On  the  extreme  summit  a  yosng 
pine  had  twisted  its  tough  roots  round  the 
stone. 

Our  wanderers  thought  they  were  entirely 
alone  on  the  height,  wiien,  to  tlieir  astonish- 
ment, a  white  greyhound  came  running  to 
them,  first  barking  at  them  from  the  distance, 
but  then  ctinfidentially  approaching  and'  re- 
turning Lodoiska's  caresses  by  gaily  jump- 
ing up  arid  coaxiogly  pressing  his  head  into 
her  lap. 

Gaily  running  before  theBi,  the  fleet  animal 
disappeared  behind  ihe  rock. 
-  "  Probably  some  huntsman,"  said  Berno, 
"  for  there  is  ricli  booty  here  for  lovers  of  the 
chase." 

The  party  approached  the  rock.  On  its 
other  side  they  discovered;  as  Berno  had 
justly  suspected,  two  gentlemen  in  sporting- 
dress,  both  fast  asleep. 

"  They  must  be  visitor*  to  the  bath>"  said 


Berno,  is  a  low  tone,  "  for  yesterday  I  sbw 
them  in  Toplitz.  They  probably  put  up  at 
the  Golden  Lien,  for  after  the  morning  pro* 
menade  they  entered  there,  and  although  I 
stayed  about  over  an  hour,  I  did  not  see  theiD 
come  out  again." 

All  at  once  a  shot  was  heanl..  The  hound: 
barked  aloud  rousing  the  sportsmen  out  o£ 
their  sleep.  They  seemed  astoDished  at' 
finding'  a  number  of  ladies  and  geatlemeit' 
near  them.  But  they  quickly  jumped  up> 
saluted  the  party,  and  at  the  same  time  ex- 
cused themselves  for  the  position  in  which 
they  had  been  found.  They  were  French* 
men.  Being  fond  of  the  chase,  they  had  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  of  a  Bohemian  noble,, 
whose  acquaintance  they  had  niade  on  the 
journey  from  Prague  to  Toplitz,  to  spend  a 
few  days  on  his  property  ;  but  they  had  lost 
him  during  the  day,  and  were  now  reposing 
after  some  hours'  hard  exercise.  The  shpt 
just  heard  must  have  been  fired  by  their  . 
friend,  for  soon  afterwards  a  beautiful  pointer 
made  his  appeararice.  A  long  time  did  nol'  <|jr: 
elapse  before  the  gentleman  was  himself 
seen  breaking  out  from  among  the  treeav 
This  was  Baron  Sidlayek,  a  rich  proprietor 
of  the  vicinity,  well-known  by  Erlheten,  Anv 
heim  and  Berno.  Salutes  were  exchanged 
with  that  heartiness  which  ie- created  by  an 
unexpected  meeting,  and  the  Baron  asked 
permission  to  join  the  company  with  his  tw» 
friends,  whom  he  introduced  as-  Messieurs, 
de  St.  Luces  and  Beaucaire.  Accidentally 
Mary  had  stood  at  some  distance,  and  had 
not  heard  the  names  of  these  gentlemen^; 
otherwise  she  would  certainly  have  been 
much  frightened,  for  she  knew,  through  Ra- 
sinski,  how  closely  they  were  conrtected  with 
the  fate  of  her  brother. 

After  rcstiag  sufficiently,  and  drinking  in 
the  beavties  of  Nature  around  them,  they 
turned  their  steps  towards  the  eastle>  With 
true  French  gallantry,  the  two  strangers  aj>- 

E reached  the  ladies,  and  were  soen  as  well- 
nowu  as  the  oldest  friends.  The  patii  at 
times  being  so  contracted  as  to  allow  of  de- 
scent only  by  pairs,  the  elder  of  the  strangers,. 
St.  Luces,  held  the  Captain  a  little  back,  aiui 
with  the  usual  social  curiosity  asked  hinv 
the  names  and  rank  of  those  presenti  Beai- 
caire  also  approached  to  listen.  The  names 
Erlhofen,  BernO)  even  those  of  the  Countess 
and  Lodoiska,  seemed,  indifferent  to  them  ; 
but  when  Arnheim  mentioned  Mary's  name, 
the  oldest  of  the  strangers  interrupted  him. 

"  How  ?  Rosen  ?  from  Dresden  ?  Did 
you  hear,  Beaueaire  ?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  latter,  with  a 
mien,  the  strange  expression  of  which  strueL 
the  Captain. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  the-  lady  already^ 
gentlemen  ?"  said  Arnheim^ 


t 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


103 


"  Slightly,"  replied  St.  Luces.  "  I  have 
seen  her  Beveral  times  at  the  theatre  in 
Dresden,  where  I  stayed  for  some  months, 
and  as  her  charming  appearance  pleased 
me,  I  inquired  for  her  name.  That  is  our 
whole  acquaintance."     , 

These  words  amounted  to  nothing,  for 
during  their  utterance  the  speaker  threw 
such  significant  glances  at  Beaucaire,  that 
the  Captain  felt  convinced  that  the  remem- 
brance of  some  particular  occurrence  must 
liave  thus  excised  his  curiosity.  We  may 
as  well  say,  too,  that  whether  he  knew  it  or 
not,  Arnheim  had  ftlt  a  lively  sentiment  to- 
wards Mary,  a  feeling  not  likely  to  be  allay- 
ed by  the  particular  interest  shown  by  an- 
other, who,  for  what  he  knew,  might  prove 
a  rival. 

"  Tell  me,"  added  the  Frenchman,  "  is 
this  young  lady  alone,  or  with  her  rela- 
'    tions  ?" 

"  As  far  as  I  know,"  replied  Arnheim, 
"  only  with  her  mother,  who  is  kept  at  home 
fim  account  of  ill  health." 

"  Then  her  brother  is  not  here  with 
them  ?"  . 

"  Her  brother  ?  I  know  nothing  of  him ; 
still  it  is  not  impossible,  for  it  is  only  these 
few  days  I  have  had  the  honor  of  being  ac- 
quainted with  the  young  lady.  I  cannot  give 
you  any  information  about  her  family  con- 
nexions." 

"  Still  the  brother  may  be  expected  ?"  said 
St.  Luces,  clinging  to  the  thought  with  an 
eagerness  which  proved  his  interest  in  the 
matter. 

"  The  lady  herself  will  be  able  to  give  you 
.  the  best  information,"  replied  the  Captain,  to 
whom  the  continual  interchanging  of  looks 
between  the  two  strangers  became  more  dis- 
agreeable. 

But  they  asked  no  more  questions,  and 
Arnheim  disengaged  himself  from  them, 
which  was  less  difficult,  as  both  had  halted 
a  little,  and  were  now  seemingly  engaged  in 
a  low  conversation.  Therefore  he  now  tried 
to  approach  Mary's  side.  His  desire  was  to 
tell  her  that  she  was  known  to  the  two 
strangers,  and  learn  from  her  what  kind  of 
acquaintance  that  was  about  which  she 
seemed  not  to  care  in  the  least.  At  a  turn 
of  the  road  he  succeeded  in  cutting  off  those 
going  before  him  and  reaching  Mary's  side. 

"  You  are  the  only  one  in  the  company," 
*  he  said  to  M  ry,  after  the  first  compliment, 
"  who  is  not  a  stranger  to  the  two  gentle- 
men. They  claim  to  have  already  obtained 
that  good  fortune  in  Dresden." 

"  Know  me  ?"  replied  Mary,  quickly. — 
"  They  seem  to  be  French  officers,  but  I 
never  was  acqilainted  with  them." 

"Perhaps  not  intimately,"  replied  Arn- 
heim ;  "  yet  vour  name  was  known  to  the 


older  gentleman';  he  asserts  he  has  seen  yoa 
repeatedly  at  the  theatre." 

"  Impossible  !"  replied  Mary.  "  For  more 
than  a  year  I  haj|3  not  visited  the  theatre, 
and  never  when  a  French  garrison  was 
quartered  at  Dresden." 

Her  answer  was  so  prompt  that  Arnheim 
feared  he  had  given  her  offence ;  indeed 
Mary  did  feel  hurt,  for  with  her  devotion  to 
her  country,  and  her  firmly-rooted  hatred 
against  its  enemies,  she  would  almost  have 
regarded  it  as  a  crime  to  have  manifested 
that  respect  for  French  offiders  which  was 
due  to  those  of  her  own  fatherland. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Arnheim,  "  that  I 
only  repeat  what  those  gentlemen  have  j.ust 
told  me  themselves," 

"  I  most  willingly  believe  it,"  replied  Mary, 
in  a  milder  tone,  as  she  feared  to  have 
offended  Arnheim  ;  "  but  you  know  there  is 
something  in  these  Frenchmen,  which  con- 
strains them  to  act  without  principle,  even 
when  a  lady's  reputation  is  at  stake.  Jt  is 
possible  that  these  gentlemen  know  me,  from 
having  seen  me  in  the  street  or  on  the  pro- 
menade ;  yet  I  can  assure  you  that  this  ac- 
quaintance exists  only  on  their  side." 

Arnheim,  to  whom  it  was  agreeable  to  find 
his  suspicions  confirmed,  broke  off  a  con- 
versation evidently  distasteful  to  Mary.  The 
subject  was  mentioned  no  more. 

The  Schreckenstein  was  once  more  reach- 
ed. Here  again  they  stopped  for  a  short 
time,  and  just  when  the  setting  sun  overcast 
the  clear  sky  with  a  rosy  tint,  and  the  pale, 
full  moon  rose  out  of  the  dusky  horizon,  they 
entered  the  boat,  to  float  down  the  stream  to- 
wards the  town. 

The  company  gave  themselves  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  pure  silent  evening.  The 
expected  chill  had  not  come — a  pleasant  air 
only  curled  the  waves.  The  tops  of  the 
mountains  appeared  melted  in  the  purple  twi- 
light, blended  with  the  silver  moonlight.  The 
mirror  of  the  Elbe  gave  back  the  shores  in 
their  boldest  lines.  A  cool,  refreshing  fra- 
grance rose  from  tlie  waters.  All  sat  silent, 
without  speaking,  in  the  blissful  quiet  state 
which  wakens  all  the  poetry  of  the  heart. 
Suddenly  the  silvery  sounds  of  a  guitar  were 
heard. 

All  listened.  In  every  breeze  rose  the 
swelling  tide  of  feeling,  which  the  moving 
bark  and  the  song  of  the  gondolier  creates 
within  Us.  It  was  as  though  the  stream  and 
its  beetling  banks  had  suddenly  passed  under 
an  Italian  sky,  as  if  it  were  the  waves  of  the 
Brenta  or  Po  on  which  they  were  floating. 

The  performer  proved  to  be  the  handsome, 
fair  Berno,  who  touched  the  strings  to  sing 
a  ballad  he  had  composed  from  a  tradition  of 
the  Schrekenstein.  The  boatmen  sat  listen- 
ing directing  their  eyes  to  the  singer,  pleased 


^ 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


at  Ihe  surprise.  The  other  listeners  signal- 
ized each  other  to  preserve  silence.  Nothing 
but  the  low  rushing  of  the  waves  at  the  keel 
was  heard.  The  moon  cast  her  rays  on  Ber- 
no's  face.  Li  lie  an  inspired  improvisator,  he 
cast  his  large  blue  eye  up  to  the  light  and 
with  a  well-sounding  voice  sang  the  verses 
of  the  tradition,  the  burden  of  which  told 
how  a  tyrannical  father  maliciously  pushed 
into  the  abyss  the  lover  of  his  daughter, 
when  d-uring  the  night  he  climbed  up  tlie 
steep  rock.  In  her  grief  the  young  girl  also 
cast  herself  into  the  stream,  and  the  eternal- 
ly floating  waters  form  the  grave  of  the  lov- 
ing couple.  Berno  sang  with  a  mild  agree- 
able voice  and  lent  to  his  ditty  really  deep- 
felt  expression. 

The  song  concluded,  all  were  silent.  Even 
St.  Luces  and  Beaucaire  had  enough  of  so- 
ciable tact  not  to  speak,  although  they  were 
curious  to  know  the  aim  of  the  song,  the 
words  of  which  they  had  not  understood. 

Shortly  the  increasing  life  on  shore,  to- 
gether with  several  boats  with  people  from 
the  town,  interrupted  the  pleasant  calmness 
which  till  now  had  reigned  over  the  land- 
scape. Gradually  the  boats  neared  the  shore 
and  arrived  at  the  landing  place.  Part  of 
the  company  who  had  preceded  them  were 
assembled  there  and  hailed  them  with  friend- 
ly salutes.  In  merry  disorder  they  returned 
to  the  inn,  where  the  saloon,  brilliantly  light- 
ed with  tapers,  received  the  company.  The 
table  was  bountifully  supplied  with  fruit,  cold 
viands,  and  wine. 

Finally,  about  midnight  they  must  sepa- 
rate and  return  home.     Erlhofen  could  not 
let  this  occasion  pass  without  delivering  an 
appropriate  address.     He  rose  from  his  seat, 
IBUed  his  glass,,  and  said  : 

"  After  a  short,  but,  I  hope,  more  honora- 
ble reign  than  ever  jnonarcli  enjoyed,  I  come 
like  the  great  Emperor  Charles  to  lay  down 
my  sceptre.  No  revolution  has  overthrown 
me,  nor  has  the  hand  of  death  overtaken  me, 
but  of  my  own  will  and  pleasure  does  my 
sovereignty  cease.  The  only  painful  chance 
to  which  the  resignation  of  your  sovereign 
leaves  you  is  a  fall  in  the  rugged  road  to  Top- 
litz.     Go,  then,  my  subjects  !  farewell !." 

With  these  words  the  magnanimous  mon- 
arch emptied  his  glass — ottered  his  arm  to 
his  queen  and  conducted  her  to  the  carriage. 
All  followed  in  pairs  as  before,  and  rolled  one 
after  the  other  away  in  the  beautiful  moon- 
light 


►  *    CHAPTER  XXXVL  «;.^i*« 

The  morning  had  dawned  when  Mary 
silently  stepped  through  the  back  door,  the 
key  ot  which  she  had  secured,  that  she  might 
be  able  to  reach  her  bed-room  without  dis- 
turbing any  one.  She  was  surprised  at  see- 
ing a  lamp  still  burning  in  her  mother's  room. 
Cautiously  stepping  near,  she  looked  through 
the  vine-covered  windows.  A  bright  lamp 
was  burning  there  ;  the  light  threw  a  dark 
shadow  over  the  bed,  and  upon  an  arm-chair 
near  it ;  here  sat  a  female  tigure  whose  fea- 
tures Mary  could  not  distinguish.  A  violent 
trembling  seized  her  at  this  sight ;  she  felt  it 
even  in  her  tottering  knees,  wliich  rendered  it 
almost  impossible  for  her  to  keep  on  her 
feet. 

Had  her  mother  suddenly  fallen  sick  again  ? 
Had  any  other  misfortune  happened  ? — 
Alarmed  at  these  thoughts  she  finally  gained 
her  room  and  with  fear  opened  the  door 
which  led  into  her  mother's  chamber.  As 
she  entered,  the  hostess  awoke  from  the  light 
slumber  which  she  had  fallen  into — for  it 
was  she  who  had  been  sitting  by  the  bedside. 
She  immediately  recognised  Mary.  With  a 
sign  of  the  finger  she  bade  her  be  silent,  and 
then  pointed  to  the  slumbering  sick  mother. 
In  painful  expectation  Mary  stopped  at  the 
door.  On  her  tiptoes,  Mrs.  Holder  got  up, 
and  they  both  stepped  into  the  adjoining 
room. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 
Mary  exclaimed  with  a  violently  heaving 
breast. 

"  Do  not  be  so  much  alarmed,  dearest 
lady,"  replied  the  hostess,  endeavoring  to 
calm  her.  "  The  accident  will  not  have  any 
bad  consequences.  This  morning  your  mo- 
ther and  myself  were  on  the  promenade,  to- 
gether with  many  of  the  bathing  guests,  when 
we  suddenly  heard  shouts  of '  Mad  dog !  mad 
dog  !'  All  ran  to  seek  refuge  in  the  houses. 
We  also  fled  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Look- 
ing behind  us,  we  saw  the  furious  animal 
running  in  the  saihe  direction  we  had  taken. 
Fear  gave  wings  to  our  feet,  and  we  soon 
reached  the  hill,  where,  you  know,  the  large 
chestnut  trees  stand.  The  same  moment  the 
dog  ran  past  us  into  the  town,  where  he  was 
killed.  But  the  excitement  and  the  fear  had 
deprived  us  of  breath,  and  your  mother  suf- 
fered a  serious  shock.  This  is  the  cause  of 
her  illness."  ** 

Mary  trembled  and  changed  color  while 
listening  to  these  words.  Now  she  breathed 
lighter,  and  said  with  firmness  : 

""  Tell  me  all,  dear  Mrs.  Holder — yes,  all. 
I  must  and  will  know  it,  if  I  am  to  be  the 
attendant  of  my  mother.  Has  the  physician 
been  here  ?     What  did  he  order  /" 

"  We  sent  itnmediately  for  him.    When 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


105 


ke  learned  she  bad  been  tbrowing  ap  bkmd, 
he  said  she  must  be  kept«trictly  quiet." 

"  Hemorrhage  !"  cried  Mary,  overwhelm- 
ed with  the  fearful  import  of  the  word.  "  Al- 
mighty God !  this,  too,  and  you  sent  not  for 


me 


I" 


It  proved  too  much  for  her.  The  whole 
strength  and  resolution  of  her  soul  were 
crushed  and  benumbe^  by  this  unexpected 
blow.  Convinced  of  the  real  nature  of  her 
mother's  sickness,  the  most  gloomy  forebo- 
dings rose  in  her  breast.  She  permitted  Mrs. 
Holder  to  lead  her  to  a  seat,  upon  which  she 
sank  down  exhausted.      • 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  the  hostess,  in 
a  consoling  voice.  "  The  physician  has  given 
us  the  best  hopes.  He  merely  ordered  quiet- 
ness, that  there  might  not  be  a  relapse. 
Therefore  lie  quietly  down  to  sleep,  and  I 
will  watch  by  the  bed  of  your  mother.  She 
is  aware  of  my  being  with  "her,  and  she  might 
perhaps  be  alarmed  were  she  suddenly  to  see 
that  you  had  undertaken  the  care  of  her. 
For  she  desired  that  you  might  not  be  told 
dLnjrthing  on  your  return,  as  to-morrow  all 
would  be  right  again,  and  you  not  plunged 
into  useless  sorrow  and  fear.  Yet  I  have 
not  dared  to  take  this  wholly  upon  myself ; 
but  now  you  must  quietly  remain  in  your 
room  and  sleep,  otherwise  you  may  fall  sick 
yours^f.  You  must  be  much  exhausted 
after  the  long  ride." 

Mary  was  certainly  tired  ;  yet  she  would 
have  found  sufficient  strength  even  to  bear 
this  new  calamity,  had  not  the  suddenness  of 
the  blow  struck  her  so  hard.  She  was  obliged 
to  acknowledge  that  in  her  present  agitat- 
ed state,  she  was  unfit  to  take  care  of  her 
mother.  Nothing  was  thus  to  be  done  but  to 
accept  the  kind  oifer  of  the  hostess,  who, 
with  much  compassion,  insisted  upon  her  en- 
joying some  hours'  repose  at  least.  She  did 
permit  herself  to  be  persuaded,  although  she 
was  convinced  that  no  pleasant  sleep  would 
befall  her.  Yet  the  great  exhaustion  of  her 
body,  combined  with  her  excitement  of  mind, 
created  such  a  weakness  that  she  soon  fell 
into  a  slumber.  Thus  her  body,  at  least, 
gained  that  necessary  repose  which  she 
would  never  have  voluntarily  given  it. 

After  a  few  hours  had  elapsed,  Mrs.  Hol- 
der stepped  to  her  bed-side  and  awoke  her 
with  a  few  kind  words. 

She  quietly  rose,  hurriedly  dressed  herself, 
?ind  went  into  her  mother's  room.  She  had 
firmly  resolved  to  subdue  her  feelings,  and 
not  to  betray  her  grief,  even  by  the  slightest 
expression. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dearest  mother,"  said 
she,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  how  are  you  ?  Are 
you  somewhat  better  ?" 

The  mild,  calm  features  of  the  invalid  ex- 
pressed that  resignation  to  her  sufferings 


which,  for  many  years  already  she  bad  borne 

with  Christian  firmness.  She  mildly  smiled 
at  l^r  daughter,  though  she  was  unable  to 
speak.  Slightly  turning  her  hand,  she  offer- 
ed it  to  her  beloved  child — for  she  had  not 
strength  enough  to  hold  it  up.  With. the 
keen  eye  of  loving  care,  Mary  saw.  through 
the  thin  veil  of  calmness  with  which  her 
mother  sought  to  hide  her  real  state.  After 
the  first  glance  at  the  sufferer's  face  she  felt 
convinced  of  the  dreadful  truth — she  is  lost 
to  thee  !  In  the  languishing  eye — on  the  pale 
lips,  she  read  it  more  intelligibly  than  in  the 
mute  salute — in  the  loss  of  speech,  so  unlike 
her  kind,  friendly  mother.  Her  heart  trem- 
bled under  the  touch  of  this  new  grief,  so 
suddenly  befalling  her.  Yet  she  pursued 
her  resolution  and  smiled  whilst  her  breast 
was  torn  by  the  extremest  anguish. 

"  My  dear,  good  mother,"  she  said, "  whilst 
I,  without  anticipating  any  calamity,  had  joy 
and  pleasure  in  abundance,  a  terrible  misfor- 
tune  befell  you  and  caused  you  new  suffer- 
ings !  But  I  sincerely  hope  that  they  will 
pass  as  quickly  as  they  have  come.  Only 
be  quiet ;  do  not  try  to  speak  ;  do  not  console 
me  ;  do  not  pronounce  a  word.  I  can  read 
in  your  eyes  all  your  wishes — all  your  de- 
sires, and  my  careful  attention  will  always 
understand  what  you  would  express  in 
words." 

She  immediately  began  to  adjust  the  sunk- 
en pillows  under  the  head  of  her  mother,  and 
place  them  in  a  position  that  her  mother 
could  breathe  easier.  She  then  poured  out 
a  cup  of  the  tea  the  physician  had  ordered, 
which  she  gave  at  intervals  to  the  invalid 
when  she  desired  it.     Mary  asked  : 

"  Shall  I  read  something  to  you  ?" 

A  motion  of  her  mother's   eye  was,  to    ^ 
Mary,  an  order  to  get  a  prayer-book,  from 
which  she  generally  read   every   morning. 
With    a  gentle    but   firm  voice  she    com- 
menced. 

The  simple  piety,  the  ptire  solemnity  of 
soul  which  was  expressed  in  the  lines, 
strengthened  even  her  foreboding  heart,  and 
caused  it  to  regain  new  courage,  to  raise  it- 
self above  all  earthly  fears  and  sorrows. 
After  she  had  read  a  few  prayers,  she  came  to 
a  passage  which  seemed  to  have  been  written 
purposely  for  their  present  condition.  Deeply 
touched  by  the  great  truths  it  contained,  she 
read  it  with  an  elevated  voice,  with  an  in- 
creasing resignation  and  confidence ;  even 
her  mother  became  strengthened  by  the  happy 
words  of  consolation,  and  listened  to  them 
with  animated  eyes.  Mary,  who  at  intervals 
peeped  at  the  invalid  over  the  book  to  gather 
her  wishes,  observed  the  impression  made 
upon  her. 

"  Shall  I  read  it  once  more,  mother  ?"  said 
she,  for  she  knew  that  it  afforded  her  pica- 


106 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


sure  to  hear  those  passages  read  again  that 
had  pleased  her  the  most. 

The  invalid  smiled  and  nodded  her  head. 
Mary  read : 

"  There  are  times  in  human  life  when  the 
clear  sky  seems  to  be  hidden  from  us,  when 
one  gray,  gloomy  cloud  rises  after  the  other 
and  rests  over  our  heads.  We  often  think 
then  that  our  measure  is  filled,  and  that  there 
is  not  a  lot  more  hard,  not  a  fate  more  bitter 
than  ours.  But  these  are  the  thougiits  of  a 
despairing  mind,  which  does  not  recognise 
the  great  benefactions  of  God.  His  grace  is 
too  abounding  to  permit  you  to  empty  the 
cup  of  misery  ;  you  coiMd  not  bear  it ;  before 
you  drank  half,  your  earthly  powers  would 
fail.  But  why  do  you  think  that  you  have 
exhausted  the  deepest  suffering  ?  Because 
you  have  no  longer  a  thankful  heart  to  feel 
the  rich  bounty  of  those  divine  favors  which 
still  surround  you,  even  when  you  feel  the 
sharp  sting  of  pain.  The  worm  gnaws  at 
the  tree,  but  the  crown  of  it  is  still  decorated 
with  abundance  of  fruit.  But  you  only  weep 
at  what  you  have  lost,  and  close  your  eyes 
against  what  still  remains  to  you.  A  mother 
loses  a  beloved  child ;  in  her  deep  grief  she 
weeps  over  it,  and  does  not  see  that  a  bloom- 
ing wreath  of  sons  and  daughters  still  sur- 
round her.  And  if  all  should  be  taken  from 
you — if  an  orphan  should  stand  alone,  dis- 
consolate and  suffering,  without  advice  or 
assistance — if  she  should  nowhere  see  the 
path  leading  from  the  gloomy  abyss  of  pain 
into  the  glad  vales  of  joy — would  not  the 
ever-loving  Father  remain  to  her  ?  Was  it 
not  His  hand  that  made  those  thousand  paths, 
from  which  the  mortal  eye  can  no  longer  find 
an  outlet  ?  Is  not  the  pain,  which  befalls 
^  you  merely  the  passing  pain  of  earth  ?  And 
does  not  eternal  joy  dwell  in  the  unlimited 
habitations  of  heaven  ?  If  heA  all  is  dark 
as  night — if  fogs  and  clouds  hide  the  stars, 
*  do  not  a  thousand  suns  shine  in  the  great 
world  far  abov^  the  earth?  Ay,  does  not 
even  half  this  earth  still  shine  in  the  bril- 
liancy of  light,  while  the  other  half  is  envel- 
oped in  the  quickly-passing  darkness  of 
night  ?  As  sure  as  the  dawn  of  rosy  morn- 
ing is  the  bliss  which  follows  the  short  hour 
of  trial.  Therefore,  dear  friends,  be  confiding. 
There  is  one  eye  which  can  pierce  through 
the  darkest  cloud,  and  count  the  tears  of 
those  sufferers  who  look  up  for  succor ; 
there  is  one  heart  which  can  feel  the  pain  of 
each  suffering  breast  that  does  not  faithlessly 
turn  from  Him ;  there  is  one  arm  which  can 
stretch  into  the  deepest  abyss,  and  take  the 
extended  hand  of  the  helpless  one  that  is 
sincerely  ready  to  grasp  it.  This  eye  always 
•watches  over  you,  this  heart  beats  with 
yours,  this  hand  leads  you  through  the  dark 
paths  of  suffering  and  danger.    Therefore 


confide,  for  wherever  you  wander  the  Lord 
is  with  you  ;  He  does  not  abandon  those  who 
are  faithful  to  Him." 

During  her  eager  reading,  Mary  had  not 
observed  the  entrance  of  the  physician,  who 
had  been  standing  at  the  door  for  some 
minutes  listening  to  her,  without  having  been 
observed  either  by  her  mother  or  herself. 
He  now  approached,  but  acted  as  though  just 
arrived,  for  he  wished  to  spare  Mary  the 
slightest  confusion.  After  wishi^ng  her  a 
friendly  good  morning, .  he  approached  the 
invalid,  felt  her  pulse,  and  looked  attentively 
at  her. 

"  Hem,"  said  he,  somewhat  solemnly, 
"  we  must  continue  the  anodynes." 

After  asking  some  questions  about  the  in- 
valid, he  took  pen  and  paper  and  wrote  out 
a  prescription,  the  speedy  preparation  of' 
which  he  recommended  ;  he  then  prepared  to 
depart.  Under  the  appearance  of  decency, 
but  iri  reality  to  be  informed  of  the  real  state 
of  her  mother,  Mary  accompanied  him,  as 
she  was  certain  that  she  could  bear  even  the 
most  fatal  truth  with  more  firmness  and  reso- 
lution than  that  state  of  uncertain- fear  which 
adds  to  real  danger.  With  anxious  but  de- 
cided calmness  she  desired  the  practitioner 
to  inform  her  of  all. 

"  My  de&r  child,"  replied  the  physician,  in 
a  friendly  tone,  "  you  will  do  well  to^  act  in 
accordance  with  those  beautiful  words  of 
consolation  which,  on  entering,  I  heard  you 
read.  I  have  little  hope !  If  she  vomits 
blood  again,  then  all  is  over.  At  noon  I 
think  this  will  be  decided !" 

Although  Mary  was  composed,  although 
her  resolution!  to  subdue  every  rising  feeling 
had  been  firm,  yet  this  sudden  sentence  of 
death  deprived  her  for  a  moment  of  herself. 
She  broke  out  into  bitter,  silent  tears,  and  in 
exhaustion  leaned  upon  the  physician's 
shoulder,  who  now  endeavored  to  revive  her 
courage  with  softened,  consohng  words.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  recovered. 

"  It  is  over  now,"  she  said,  feebly ;  "  I  feel 
that  I  have  sufGcient  strength  to  remain  by 
my  mother's  couch.  I  thank  you  for  not 
having  kept  her  real  situation  from  me;  I 
now  consider  the  worst  ascertained,  and 
with  composure  I  resign  myself  to  the  loss 
of  the  dearest,  the  only  treasure  I  possess  on 
earth !" 

"  Think  of  the  eye  which  counts  those 
tears  of  yours,  of  the  heart  which  beats  for 
you,  of  the  hand  which  will  lead  you  through 
the  solitary  path  of  life,"  said  the  physician, 
"  that  will  give  you  courage  and  strength  in 
the  last  hour.  Farewell  now  !  In  a  few 
hours  you  will  see  me  again.  If  during  that 
time  anything  should  happen,  send  for  me, 
and  I  will  immediately  attend."        * 

With  these  words  he  took  Mary's  hand 


NAPOLEON'S  niVASKMC  OF  RUSSIiu 


lez 


pressed  it  with  friendly  warmth,  aq^  then 
quickly  left  the  room. 

Piously  Mary  fell  on  her  knees,  and  from 
her  inmost  soul  prayed  God  to  give  her 
strength  in  the  hour  of  trial.  Once  more  she 
shed  assuaging  tears,  then  the  beneficence 
of  a  firm  mental  resolirtion  returned  to  her, 
and  with  a  lighter  heart  she  returned  to  bei 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XXXVm 

Oif  returning  Hbme,  St.  Luces  and  Beaacaire 
had  been  too  much  tired  to  discuss  the  events 
of  the  day ;  but  on  the  following  morning, 
when  the  servant  brought  coflFee  to  Beaucaire, 
his  first  thoughts,  were  about  the  discovery 
which  he  had  made  the  preceding  day,  and 
the  carrying  out  the  plans  he  had  immedi- 
ately framedj  He  therefore  went*  to  St. 
Luce&whoDFhe  already  found  at  the  v^iting 
desk.*  After  saluting  him  he  observed : 

"  I  beUeve  that  we  made  a  fortunate  day's 
sport  yesterday ;  at  least  we  are  on  the  track 
of  a  noble  quarry,  that  may  bring  us  a  thou- 
sand napoleons." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  replied  St.  Luces 
smiling,  "  but  the  question  now  is,  how  are 
we  to  proceed  about  it.  I  am  arranging  the 
steps  in  this  affair,  that  is  to  say,  I  am  writing 
to  Dresden,  to  get  some  documents,  by  which 
I  can  claim  the  assistance  of  the  Government 
here,  for  as  we  are  situated  now,  we  can  do 
nothing  at  all." 

"  That  is  not  what  /  should  do,"  replied 
Beaucaire ;  "  I  fear  that  would  not  put  us  fur- 
ther in  the  affair.  We  have  to  deal  with  the 
inhabitants  of  a  conquered  country,  towards 
whom  we  have  to  act  caiitiously,  otherwise 
we  might  long  ago  have  forced  the  mother 
and  sister  to  inform  us  of  the  brother's  where- 
abouts, for  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  is 
♦  acquainted  with  it.  Should  we,  therefore, 
wish  to  inform  ourselves  through  the  confes- 
sion of  the  women,  nothing  in  the  world 
would  be  easier.  I  doubt  that  the  necessary 
documents  would  be  given  to  us ;  and  even 
if  they  were,  we  should  have  a  disagreeable 
scene,  for  the  result  of  which  I  would  not 
answer  j  for  we  must  not  forget  that  the  pres- 
ent close  relationship  between  the  Emperor 
and  Austria  causes  Utter  feelings  towards  us. 
I  think  tliere  is  another  way  by  which  we  can 
get  possession  of  the  secret" 

"  And  what  is  it  ?"  asked  St.  Luces,  atten- 
tively. 

"  We  must  not  be  stingy,"  eontinued  Beau- 
caire with  a  winning,  nmicious  smile,  "  but 


out  of  the  thousand  napoleons  expend  about 
fifty,  which  should  be  given  to  the  postmaster 
here,  if  he  would  give  up  to  us  for  examina- 
tion all  the  letters  which  are  sent  off,  or  arrive 
for  the  two  ladies.  Do  yoii  not  think  that 
our  hot  knife  will  be  able  to  open  the  seal  of 
a  lady's  letter  as  well  as  that  of  a  carefully 
closed  diplomatic  dispatch  I" 

"  I  only  fear  that  we  have  been  recognised^ 
and  excited  suspicion !" 

"  Who  should  have  known  us  ?"  exclaimed 
Beaucaire.  "  If  the  young  girl  had  done  so, 
we  should  have  remarked  it  immediately ;  but 
I  am  sure  that  she  has  not  even  heard  our 
names,  as  she  was  too  far  distant  when  we 
were  presented,  and  from  the  moment  that  I 
was  informed  who  she  was ;  I  kept  my  eye 
constantly  upon  her." 

"And  so  did  I,"  replied  St^  Luces;  "but 
then^  sir,  her  behavior — in  her  glances  I  be- 
lieve I  have  observed  that  if  she  does  not 
know  us,  she  has  at  least  some  suspicion." 

"  And  if  the  women  shohld  know  both  of 
us  well,  what  then  would  follow  ?"  exclaimed 
Beaucaire.  "At  any  rate, their  caution  could 
be  only  directed  to  the  leavings  not  to  the 
arriving  letters,  and  these  latter  would  pro- 
bably give  us  more  light  than  the  former." 

St.  Luces  walked  thoughtfully  up  and  down* 
the  chamber. 

"  Do  you  not  fear  that  the  stupid  honesty 
of  the  officials  will  frustrate  your  plans,  and- 
even  perhaps  injure  us  ?" 

"  I  think,  Sir  Baron,"  replied  Beaucaire, 
somewhat  miffed,  "  that  I  have  given  you 
sufficient  proof  already  that  I  know  how  to 
arrange  negotiations  of  greater  difficulty,  and 
in  winch  more  was  to  be  lost,  than  this. 
Be  tranquil  and  leave  the  affair  to  me;  I  will  > 
find  mAis  to  spin  the  thread  which  shall  ^ 
noose  our  adventurers."  * 

St,  Luces  still  paced  the  room  irresolute ; 
at  length  he  took  the  hand  of  his  friend  and 
said :  "  Well,  well^  I  will  leave  it  to  you. 
I  will  even  give  you  the  greater  part  of  the 
reward,  only  do  not  injure  our  reputation 
*for  skilfulness.  It  is  because  the  trace  is 
lost  here,  because  we  cannot  employ  coer- 
cive means  which  irritate  the  people  against 
us,  that  I  wish  this  affair  to  be  finished  by  an 
able  coup.  We  are  closely  linked,  my  friend,  ♦ 
you  follow  my  course,  step  after  step.  If  I 
advance,  you  occupy  the  vacancy  I  leave  be- 
hind; rest  assured,  I  shall  always  give  my 
hand  to  draw  you  on  before  another  coula 
pass  between  us.  Once  more :  this  affair  I 
leave  wholly  to  you;  still  I  shall  not  draw 
back,  if  it  take  a  disagreeable  turn." 

"  You  may  implicitly  confide  in  me,"  said 
Beaucaire,  humbly  bowing ;  "  I  will  hurry  to 
cast  the  net,  for  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

Witii  these  words  he  withdrew,  retirihg  to 
his  room  to  dress.     Shortly  after  he  set  oat  ■ 


ids 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


to  p«t  his  project  agoing.  His  first  1»u»nes8 
was  to  enter  a  cofiee-house,  to  look  through 
the  list  of  arrivals.  He  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  some  citizens,  to  inform  himself 
of  the  character  of  the  postmaster,  and  what 
he  heard  seemed  to  him  favorable  for  his 
plan. 

He  therefore  quietly  repaired  to  the  post- 
ofBce.  But  to  his  great  disappointment,  he 
learned  that  the  postmaster  had  that  morning 
left  for  Dresden,  and  would  not  return  for  a 
fortnight  This  information  was  given  to 
him  by  an  old  clerk,  in  whose  sharp,  wrinkled 
features,  and  shining  grey  eyes,  Beaucaire 
thought  he  read  somethiilg  favorable  to  his 
views. 

"Are  you  then  doing  his  business  the 
meanwhile  V  he  asked  cautiously.  "  Perhaps 
I  can  address  myself  to  you  about  a  favor 
for  wiiich  I  would  be  very  thankful."  At 
tliese  words,  he  in  a  friendly  manner  reached 
his  hand  to  the  old  man,  and  dexterously 
slipped  a  few  gold  pieces  into  the  latter's 
palm.  This  was  Beaucaire's  usual  trial-shot 
to  inspect  the  soil  on  which  he  wanted  to 
step.  He  gave  it  before  he  said  for  what 
purpose,  convinced  whoever  takes  money 
^in  such  cases,  before  he  knows  whetheY-  it  is 
a  reward  for  his  trouble,  or  a  bribe,  manifests 
beforehand  that  his  conscience  is  not  in  the 
way.  Yet  Beaucaire  worked  cautiously ;  he 
at  tirst  merely  asked  for  a  quicker  delivery  of 
his  own  letters,  and  when  the  old  man  thjis 
proved  himself  greedy  after  money,  dropped 
some  hints  about  his  real  object.  He  had 
not  finished  speaking,  when  both  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  arriving  mail.  The  official 
opened  the  list  containing  the  superscriptions 
of  the  letters.  Beaucaire  threw  ^  passing 
glance  at  it,  and  guided  by  his  gQ(m  fortune, 
caught  sight  of  the  name  of  Rosen. 

As  the  hawk  darts  upon  the  pigeon,  so  did 
Beaucaire  in  his  rapacious  eagerness  fall 
upon  his  booty.  The  hurry  with  which  in 
his  excitement  he  wished  to  gain  possession 
of  the  letter,  like  to  have  lost  him  his  caution^ 
but  as  if  knowing  his  man,  he  said  in  a  low 
quick  tone — '•  Give  me  that  letter  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  and  twenty  gold  pieces  are 
yours !"  At  the  same  time  he  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  to  take  out  the  money.  The 
officer  pretended  to  hav^  heard  nothing,  but 
quietly  pushed  the  letter  aside,  and  with  a 
quick  grasp  received  the  gold,  looking  with 
an  iron  glance  into  the  way-Ust  which  lay 
open  before  him  on  the  table.  Beaucaire 
understood  the  hint;  he  therefore,  without 
ceremony,  took  possession  of  the  letter.  With 
astonishment  he  saw,  from  the  mail-stamp, 
that  it  eame  from  head-quarters.  He  imme- 
diately hurried  home,  and  with  a  triumphant 
mien  entered  the  room  of  St.  Luces,  and  ex- 
claimed: "How  now,  Sh-  Baron,'  if  victory 


sho<Ud  be  already  in  my  hand  ?  if  the  k«f  «f 

the  mystery  should  be  mine 'already  ?" 

"  What  do  I  hear  ?"  exclaimed  St.  Luces, 
quickly  jumpiag  up.  Beaucaire  gave  him  the 
letter,  and  with  astonishment  8t  Luces  read 
the  address. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  This  letter  must 
give  some  disclosures." 

"How  so?"  asked  St  Luces.  ^^ ',-.'/. 

"  Patience  a  moment,  we  shall  immediately 
see  all,"  replied  Beaucaire,  beginning  to  open 
the  letter.  "  See  here !"  he  exclaimed,  and  a 
malicious  joy  spread  over  his  face.  "  It  be- 
gins— '  Dearest  mother,'  and  ends  '  Your 
ever  faithful  L.'  Are  these  traces  ?  Have 
we  the  guiding  thread  in  our  hands  now  1" 

"  You  have  been  very  lucky  indeed,"  said 
St  Luces,  "  yet  this  certainly  will  not  help  us 
much,  for  the  fugitive  will  have  certainly  ta- 
ken another  name;  the  army  numbers  half  a 
naillion  of  combatants,  and  among  all  these,  to 
find  the  one  whom  we  seek,  would  be  so 
problematical  that  I  should  hardly  like  to  en- 
gage myself  in  the  search." 

"  My  discovery  is  so  lucky,"  replied  Beau- 
caire— "  I  am  so  satisfied  with  Ahe  nlanner  in 
which  I  made  it,  that  for  the  present^!  will 
wait  But  who  knows  whether  the  contents 
of  it  will  not  give  us  more  ample  informa- 
tion." 

Beaucaire  sat  down  and  read  the  letter 
through.  His  features  gradually  expanded 
with  a  malicious  joy.  At  the  close  he  ex- 
claimed: "We  have  nothing  mone  to  wish, 
for  from  this  letter,  we  see  almost  without  a 
doubt,  that  the  two  fugitives  we  seek  are  in 
the  army,  and  pj-obably  in  the  regiment  of 
Count  Kasinski.  For,  although  no  name  is 
written,  yet  there  remains  hardly  a  doubt  to 
any  one  who  knows  the  location  of  the  regi- 
ment. We  have,  consequently,  nothuig  more 
to  do  but  to  give  the  information,  and  perhaps 
to  find  out  the  names  which  the  young  men 
have  most  likely  taken.  From  my  present 
connection  with  the  .post,  nothing  will  be 
easier  than  to  watch  and  secure  the  answer 
to  this  letter." 

St.  Luces  felt  inwardly  vexed  at  the  fortune 
which  had  guided  Beaucaire  to  his  discovery, 
for  he  had  not  the  least  disposition  to  do  justice 
to  his  adroitness.  But  he  was  cunning  enough 
not  to  express  the  least  of  his  thoughts.  With 
quick  steps  he  paced  the  room,  endeavoring 
to  appear  as  if  solely  absorbed  with  the 
means  of  pursuing  the  discovery.  Secretly  he 
had  other  thoughts  which  were  directed  to 
two  different  aims.  At  any  price  he  w^ished 
to  destroy  Beaucaire's  discovery,  or  rather 
use  it  for  himself  With  apparent  sincerity 
therefore,  he  heaped  praises  upon  him.  "  I 
must  acknowledge  my  great  respect  for  your 
talents  and  activity,  ray  dear  Beaucaire,"  he 
said;  "in  this  afiair  you  have  acted  with  a 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


109 


reacEncss  and  subtlety  that  cannot  be  sur- 
passed I  willingly  acknowledge  that  in  the 
first  moment  I  felt  a  touch  of  displeasure, 
created  in  me  throv^h  envy  of  so  masterly  a 
mancBUvre." 

The  cunning  of  all  villaios  reaches  only 
^  certalta  point,  beyond  which  the  artful  net 
of  their  mental  comlrinations,  from  lack  of 
reason,  becomes  a  great  folly.  Beaucaire's 
subtleness  formed  its  limits;  vanity  now 
blinded  his  eyes.  He  generally  looked  at 
things  from  the  right  side,  but  was  not  proof 
against  flattery  on  the,  score  of  his  talents. 
St.  Luces  ^possessed  in  a  high  degree  the  art 
of  giving  to  his  manner  any  complexion  he 
pleased,  and  used  it  without  scruple  to  de- 
eeive  even  those  who  had  been  witnesses  of 
its  employment  agiiinst  others.  It  was  im- 
possible for  Beaucaire  to  restrain  his  pride  and 
self-importance.  The  keen  eye  of  St.  Luces 
pierced  through  him ;  the  .stronger  he  could 
confirm  him  in  his  self-gratulation,  the  firmer 
he  would  be  able  to  keep  him  under  himself. 

For  the  present  nothing  more  could  be 
Bndertaken.    Beaucaire,  after  re-sealing  the 
letter,  hurried  with  it  to  the  office,  that  it 
^^  might  at  once  be  sent  on  its  destination. 


CHAPTER  XXX Vra. 

While  with  filial  care  Mary  watched  at 
the  bedside  of  her  sick  mother,  she  did  not 
suspect  the  plots  which  malice  and  rapacity 
were  laying.  Alas !  even  had  she  known  her 
.  present  sorrow  would  have  made  her  forget 
these  prospective  woes,  for  in  deep  grief  the 
weakness  of  the  human  heart  is  its  only  sal- 
vation— ^it  can  contain  only  a  limited  mea- 
sure. Mary's  heartfelt,  but  mute  jH-ayers, 
was  for  the  preservation  of  her  mother.  Like 
a  guardian  angel  she  sat  by  the  invalid  and 
with  mild  constancy,  with  indefatigable  perse- 
yerance,  kept  from  her  everything  that  might 
disturb  her.  But  in  the  wisdom  of  Providence 
it  was  ordered  otherwise.  The  plant  Which 
had  nurtured  the  tender  blossom  at  its  side 
was  about  to  be  torn  away  forever. 

For  a  lo»g  time  the  mother  had  been 
quietly  resting  on  the  cushions  with  a  mild, 
painful  smile  on  her  lips.  Mary's  observing 
eye  had  for  some  time  pierced  a  secret  strug- 
gle in  the  features  of  her  mother;  often  al- 
ready had  she  fearfully  asked  for  the  cause, 
and  inquired  whether  she  was  suffering.  By 
mute  gestures,  or  by  a  feeble  "  no,"  she  had 
always  denied  it.  Now  suddenly  she  spoke: 
"  My  daughter,  I  feel — it  will  soon  be  over ; 
the  attack  returns — I  shall  not  survive  it.  A 
Becret  for  you  and  your  brother—your  father— 


the  papers  in  the  secret  drawer  of  my  writing^ 
desk — alas,  my  daughter,  in  your  arms ! . 

With  these  words,  which  almost  breathless 
she  had  pronounced,  she  languidly  extended 
her  arms  tmvards  her  daughter.  A  cramp 
seized  her  breast,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
Mary,  who  tearfully  embraced  her,  she  tried 
to  raise  herself  Meanwhile,  while  support- 
ing her  mother  with  the  right,  she  grasped 
with  the  left  hand  the  bell,  standing  at  the 
bed-side,  and  rang  it  violently.  "  Tlie  doctor  I 
the.doctor!"she  exclaimed  breathlessly,  when 
Mrs.  Holder  entered  and  quickly  rushed  out 
again,  to  call  for  assistance. 

Oh,  my  mother !  do  not  leave  your  daugh- 
ter r'-these  were  th4  only  words  which,  bathed 
in  tears,  Mary  could  pronounce.  Her  mother 
was  too  exhausted  by  the  cramp  to  hear, 
or  even  to  answer.  These  several  minutes 
passed  horribly  for  Mary,  who  being  alone, 
and  herself  in  want  of  assistance,  had  to 
summon  all  the  firmness  of  her  soul,  to  pre- 
vent becoming  unfit  for  tlie  assistance  she  had 
to  give  the  invalid.  A  fcarful  vomiting  of 
blood  gave  breath  to  tlie  sufferer,  but  with 
it  her  last  remains  of  strength  vanished,  and 
pale  and  speechikss  she  sank  bock  upon 
the  cushions. 

Trembling,  tlie  pale  image  of  pain,  with 
silent,  but  inevitable  tears,  M;iry  sat  at  the 
bedside,  and  observed  1m)W  the  dearest  soul 
she  had  on  earth  liberated  itself  from  the  ties 
of  the  body.  The  mother  vacantly  and 
dreamingly  looked  on  lier  dauglrter.  Her 
breath  was  faintly  moved  by  a  low,  feeble 
inspiration  in  tlie  struggle  with  death;  she 
strove  to  contract  her  hpe,  but  they  were 
shortly  overspread  with  a  pious  smile — the 
reflection  of  another  world-  One  more  mild 
glance  of  love,  and  the  eye  fiides.  Mary 
bent  over  to  catch  her  last  breath,  but  in  vain 
— the  sufferer's  sjMrit  had  fled. 

The  severe  sentence  of 'fate  was  fulfilled, 
Mary  now  stood  alone  in  the  world. 

The  first  to  interrupt  the  solemn  silence 
were  the  physician  and  Mrs.  Holder.  The 
former  hsid  hardly  thrown  a  glance  at  the 
couch,  before  he  exclaimed :  "  We  have 
come  too  late,  I  thought  that  relief  was  im- 
possible." These  words  started  Mary  from 
her  dumb,  chilling  bereavement.  She  turned 
towards  the  ^:ind  Mts.  Holder,  who  stood 
there,  full  of  grief,  and  tried  to  say,  in  a  mild 
v(Mce :  "  My  mother  is  dead  1"  but  with  every 
syllable  her  grief  choked  her  utterance,  until 
fainting,  she  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  hostess. 
But  this  swoon,  caused  by  a  sudden  burst  of 
feeling— till  now  suppressed — lasted  not  long. 
Soon  the  stream  of  life  ceased  wildly  to  rush 
over  its  banks,  and  quietly  ran  again  in  its 
calmer  bed. 

Mary,  not  willing  to  leave  all  to  Mrs.  Hol- 
der, took  care   herself  to  put  tlie  deceased 


^-^^.■■ 


i^M^ 


M, 


.  •"  -T-: 


■'^^}i^- 


110 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


upon  a  clean  bed,  and  to  dress  the  corpse  in 
8um)le  neatness. 

The  two  daughters  of  the  hostess,  Ann 
and  Theresa,  came  in  as  Majy  had  finished 
this  pious  duty.  Shrouded  in  white,  the  de- 
parted lay  on  a  litter,  the  face  mild  without 
an  expression  of  pain. 

The  two  children  brought  a  basket  of  flow- 
ers, which  their  mother  had  given  them  to 
decorate  the  couch  of  the  deceased.  Ann, 
the  older,  was  to  fulfil  this  duty,  but  tears 
prevented  the  poor  child  from  speaking; 
while  Theresa  gaily  exclaimed :  "  Look  only 
at  Ihe  beautiful  flowers,  tliey  are  all  for  you." 

Mary  looked  at  the  children  with  a  melan- 
choly smile.  She  kissed* the  older  one,  and 
fondly  pressed  her  to  her  breast ;  then,  when 
the  little  Theresa  laughingly  extended  her 
hands  towards  her,  she  took  her  by  the  arm. 
The  child  embraced  her,  and  in  the  embrace 
Mary  hid  her  tearful  face. 

Now  the  child  also  began  to  weep,  but  only" 
because  the  grief  of  others  frightened  her. 
With  loving,  becoming  words,  Miuy  tried  to 
console  her,  and  said :  "  Do  not  weep,  ftiy 
sweetheart,  I  am  cheerful  again.!  Come,  we 
will  take  the  flowers  and  strew  them  on  my 
mother's  bed.  Do  you  not  see  how  calmly 
she  sleeps  ]" 

The  child  became  calm  again,  and  said: 
"  I  will  help  you." 

"  Yes,  so  you  shall,  Theresa,  you  shall 
reach  to  me  all  the  flowers."  She  now  ^ave 
the  basket  to  the  little  girl,  who  put  it  by 
her  side,  and  with  her  gentle  hand  now  be- 
gan to  hand  her  every  flower.  Ann  assisted 
her  in  arranging  them  on  the  couch  of  the 
deceased;  tlie  painful  duty  was  performed 
almost  in  silence,  onl}' .  Theresa  sometimes 
gained  a  friendly  word  from  Mary  by  her  in- 
nocent, thoughtless  questions,  and  her  some- 
times even  merry  exclamations. 

The  deceased  now  lay  simply  decorated 
on  the  litter ;  the  last  pious  duties  of  a  daugh- 
ter Mary  had  fulfilled.  Silently,  with  folded 
hands,  she  stood  at  her  side,  her  eyes  resting 
upon  the  lifeless  face  of  her  mother.  The 
features  of  life  were  there  still;  it  was  not  yet 
the  cold,  stift" impress  of  death,  it  still  seemed 
as  if  siie  lay  only  in  slumber.  For  a  moment 
Mary  thought  it  impossible  that  every  tie  of 
this  life  was  now  severed — that  this  eye 
would  never  again  cast  a  friendly  glance  upon 
her — ^that  frame,  these  lips,  no  tender  words 
would  delight  her  more!  Violent  anguish 
oppressed  lier.  Quickly  taking  the  l^nds  of 
the  children,  she  left  the  apartment. 

As  Mary  stepped  outside  the  door,  two 
female  figures  stood  before  her.  They  were 
the  Countess  and  Lodoiska,  who,  for  the  pur->. 
pose  of  continuing  the  connexion  greated  on 
yesterday's  excursion,  came  to  make  a  visit  to 
Mary  and  her  mother. 


They  were  astonished  at  the  sight  of  her 
pale,  tearful  aspect ;  but  it  lasted  only  a  few 
seconds,  for  to  the  question  of  the  Count- 
ess :  "  My  God,  what  has  happened  to  you  P' 
Mary  replied  in  a  feeble  voice  :  "  You  enter 
the  house  of  death !"  Overwhelmed  by  the 
force  of  her  grief,  she  sank  fainting  kito  the 
arms  of  the  Countess.  With  warmth  the 
latter  pressed  her  to  her  breast.  "Be  my 
daughter!"  she  said  mildly,  t^pou which  Lo- 
doiska, taking  Mary's  hand,  added :  "  And 
my  sister !" 

Oh,  how  blessedlyj  how  mildly  did  these 
consoling  words  from  feeling  souls  touch  the 
bleeding,  trembling  heart !  How  quickly  does 
one  warm  moment  hke  this  dissipate  the  cold 
iron  hmits  which  life  for  a  long  time  often 
places  between  men.  Years  of  insignificant 
commingling  do  not  knit  hearts  so  firmly 
together,  as  a  simple,  deeply  touohing  event 
On  the  clear  stream  of  joy  the  souls  of  men 
unite  ;  but  firmer  by  far  on  the  gloomy  surfs 
of  misfortune. 

Thus,  in  this  moment,  the  thre6  ladies 
had  been  united  for  life,  and  with  her  clear 
percej/tion,  Mary  immediately  felt  this  great 
blessing,  which  in  sad  hours  God  sends  to  his 
children.  The  earnest,  confidential  consola- 
tion of  the  Countess,  and  the  kind,  sisterly  love 
of  Lodoiska,  so  warmly  touched  Mary's  heart, 
that  it  appeared  to  her  like  a  crime  to  conceal 
anything  from  those  whose  love  had  been 
given  so  entirely  to  her.  The  resolution  to 
tell  them  what  Rasinski  had  done  for  her 
brother,  became  a  pressing  necessity  to  her. 
"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  raising  her  open,  blue 
eye  to. the  Countess — "I  cannot  bear  to  stand 
before  so  noble  a  protectress,  half  veiled  in 
mistrustful  reflections.  You  have  asked  mo 
about  my  brother!  Oh,  you  know  him,  for 
under  the  name  of  Louis  Soren,  he  and  his 
friend  Bernard  found  a  hospitable  reception 
at  your  house." 

"  How  1"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  with  ex- 
cessive surprise :  "  that  young  man,  whom  we 
all  loved  for  his  maijly  behavior,  your  bro- 
ther?" 

"  He  is,  but  it  must  remain  the  deepest 
secret,"  said  Mary,  who  now  related  the  whole 
combination  of  circumstances  by  which  LoiiLs 
had  been  thrown  into  his  disagreeable  posi- 
tion. In  the  course  of  her  conversation,  she 
uttered  also  the  names  of  St  Luces  and  Beau- 
caire,  at  which  the  Countess,  who  had  an  at- 
tentive eye  to  all  circumstances,  immediately 
recollected  meeting  yesterday  with  the  two 
strangers,  and  expressed  a  fear,  but  too  well 
founded,  that  they  might  be  the  dangerous 
men.  Mary  also,  now  recollected  v^hat  Arn- 
heim  had  told  her,  and  there  was  hardly  a 
doubt  left  After  having  madfe  this  commu- 
nication to  the  Countess,  she  looked  inquir- 
ingly and  fearfully  at  her.     "  Only  courage 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Ill 


must  not  be -lost,"  said  the  resolute  woman, 
«  and  very  careful  we  must  be.  Although,  as 
a  Pole,  I  admire  and  respect  the  Emperor  of 
the  French,  and  look  upon  France  as  our  pro- 
tecting ally,  yet  I  know  all  the  oppressions 
and  horrors,  which  are  committed  by  the  of- 
ficer appointed  to  the  administration  of  hos- 
tile countries,  who,  being  neither  soldiers, 
nor  men  of  courage,  do  not  respect  manliness, 
and  only  look  to  triumph  over  the  weak. 
Among  these,  probably,  your  adversaries  are 
to  be  found.  Therefore,  be  careful.  How 
do  you  send  your  letters  ?" 

"Under  the  address  of  Count  Rasijjski," 
repUed  Mary,  not  without  a  blush. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Countess  quickly,  without 
observing  Mary's  confusion,  "give  me  your 
letters.  1  know  many  officers  in  my  brother's 
regiment ;  I  can  alter  the  address  and  arrange 
so  that  the  letters '  will  be  opened  by  im 
brother.  Consequently,  my  dearest,  in  fu- 
ture you  will  conduct  your  correspondence 
with  your  brother  through  me." 

During  this  conversation  they  had  returned 
to  the  house,  and  Mary  conducted  the  pro- 
tectress and  the  friend  whom  she  hjwi  found 
to  the  lifeless  corpse  of  her  in  whom  she  had 
lost  both. 

Silently  the  three  women  stood  around  the 
coffin,  Mary  leaning  on  the  deeply-touched 
Lodoiska,  and  silenuy  weeping. 

"How  friendly  this  face  is!"  said  the. 
Countess,  as  she  placed  her  hand  upon  the 
brow  of  the  dead  to  brush  the  hair  a  little 
back.  "How  quietly  must  the  soul  have 
passed  from  the  body !  How  composed,  how 
holy,  how  calm !" 

"  Oh !  she  was  as  mild  as  the  evening  star," 
said  Mary ;  "  like  it  she  departed,  and  upon 
this  calm  friendly  face  the  dawning  of  the 
soul  still  shines,  from  the  better  world  into 
which  she  went,  back  upon  us.  But  soon 
the  long,  impenetrable  night  will  set  in  which 
will  hide  her  from  us  forever !" 

She  spoke  of  the  burial. 

Smilingly  Theresa  and  Aim  bounced  in. 
They  held  a  letter  in  their  hands.  It  was 
from  Louis,  the  same  which  an  hour  ago 
Beaucaire  had  opened  with  vile  hands. 

"From  my  brother  to  my  mother!"  said 
Mary,  And  again  broke  forth  in  tears.  "  Alas ! 
the  poor  one,  he  knew  not  that  she  to  whom 
he  wrote  these  lines  would  never  read  them. 
For  his  life  we  tremble,  as  a  thousand  dan- 
gers surround  it,  yet  who  knows,  perhaps  he 
will  be  the  only  one  of  us  living.  Oh!  then 
I  should  deeply  pity  him!  But  no!  The 
trials  of  God  will  not  be  so  severe !"  she 
continued  after  a  few  moments'  pause,  with  a 
pious  expression  in  her  features :  "  He  will 
not  separate  us.  His  consoling  angels  will 
support  me,  and  their  protecting  hand  will 
guard  my  poor  brother*"  .  , 


The  Countess  now  proposed  to  Mary  to 
leave  the  house  of  death,  to  come  and  live 
with  her,  that  she  might  not  remain  alone  in 

a  desolate  dwelling,  but  have  a  confiden- 
breast,  on  which  her  weary  head  might 
Mary  thankfully  consented,  for  she  was 
frightened  at  the  thought  of  the  first  lonely 
night.  Lodoiska,  who,  fully  participating  in 
her  grief,  but  remained  most  silent  when  her 
heart  was  fullest,  as  she  had  not  the  gift  of  a 
ready  tongue,  still  remained  with  Mury  to  as- 
sist her  in  some  necessary  requirements. 
The  Countess  returned  home  to  prepare  every 
thing  for  Mary's  reception,  who,  assisted  by 
Lodoisca,  brought  her  httle  property  into  the 
best  order,  took  only  some  books,  papers, 
dresses  and  work  which  she  wanted  in  the 
new  dwelling,  and  then  di-essed  herself  in 
her  mourning  suit.    . 

With  kisses  and  tears,  Mary  parted  from 
the  children,  and  after  bestowing  many  thanks 
upon  the  mother,  and  covering  her  face  with 
a  black  veil  to  hide  it  from  the  curious  gaz- 
ing of  the  crowd,  she,  with  her  young  friend, 
set  out  for  her  new  habitation. 

In  the  door  stood  Mrs.  Holder  and  her  two 
daughters.  The  good  woman  shook  Mary's 
hand  once  more,  while  she  wiped  away  her 
tears  with  her  apron.  Bashfully  and  sadly, 
Ann  hid  herself  behind  her  mother,  but  little 
Theresa  coaxingly  raised  her  arms  up  to 
Mary,  and  exclaimed:  "Mary,  come  home 
soon  again !" 

•  "Soon,  soon,  and  very  often,  my  dear 
child !"  said  Mary,  while  her  voice  was  almost 
overcome  with  tears,  raising  the  little  child  in 
her  arms.  Then  she  tore  herself  away,  and 
instantly  made  an  effort  to  recover  her  failing 
strength. 

■■■:  ■■:  ■   ---^  Vl 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  third  day, 
the  deceased  had  been  buried.  Only  Mary, 
the  Countess,  Lodoiska,  and  Mrs.  Holder  had 
been  present  at  the  sorrowful,  but  consoling 
ceremony.  Mary  appeared  composed;  she 
did  not  realise  the  fears  of  the  Countess,  who 
earnestly  prayed  her  not  to  be  present  at  the 
last  sad  solemnity.  In  her  firm  and  tender 
soul  she  quickly  bowed  to  all  past  and  inevi- 
table; only  the  doubt,  the  fear  of  what  was  to 
come,  violently  moved  her.  She  trembled 
beneath  the  threatening  hand  of  fate ;  if  the 
crushing  blow  had  fallen  she  had  struggled 
against  it  with  moral  firmness,  with  true 
Christian  faith. 

Throughout  the  whole  day  she  continued 
resigned,  and  with  calm  feeling  participated 


112 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


'mf 


in  the  conversation.  Only  when  the  sun 
turned  red  and  sank  behind  the  blue  moun- 
tains, apd  the' melancholy  silence  of  evening 
spread  over  the  landscape,  she  became  sor-i 
rowful  again  and  shed  profuse  tears.  She 
desired  to  repair  to  the  grave  of  her  motner ; 
her  consoling  friends  wanted  to  accompany 
her,  but  she  prayed  to  go  alone. 

The  grave  was  covered  with  fresh  turf; 
it  had  no  other  decoration  as  yet.  The  church- 
yard lay  lonely,  fearfully,  beneath  the  shadow 
of  high  trees.  In  pensive  mood  Mary  sat 
down  on  the  grave,  her  tears  fell  silently  and 
fast.  Suddemy  she  was  startled  by  the  ap- 
proach of  manly  steps ;  she  looked  back  and 
saw  St.  Luces,  who  came  directly  to  her. 

Disagreeably  interrupted  by  his  presence, 
she  rose,  returned  his  respectful  salute  with 
a  slight^  embarrassed  nod,  and  was  about 
leaving  the  church-yard.  But  with  quick 
steps  he  joined,  and  then  addressed  her : 

"  Excuse  me,  if  I  have  interrupted  yonr 
solitude;  chance  brought  me  hither;  I  had 
not  recognised  yon  before,  otherwise  I  should 
have  quietly  withdrawn." 

St.  Luces  was  equally  false  with  his  tongue 
as  with  his  eyes ;  for  just  as  false  as  were  his 
words  were  the  seemingly  confused  glances 
and  the  sadness  which,  with  the  greatest  art, 
the  hypocrite  expressed  in  his  features.  For 
three  days  he  had  been  seeking  by  every  pos- 
sible means  to  find  an  occasion .  to  speak  to 
Mary.  The  news  of  the  sudden  death  of  her 
mother  was  most  welcome  to  him,  for  it  fa- 
vored his  doubly  villanous  plans.  Mary's 
charming  loveliness  had  already,  when  he  saw 
her  for  the  first  time,  kindled  in  him  a  detes- 
table passion.  With  tliat  quick  circumspec- 
tion with  which  all  villains  calculate  on  the 
oppressed  situation  of  others,  he  drew,up  an 
infernal  plan,  first  to  excite  the  fear  of  the 
sister  by  threats  against  her  brother,  and  then. 
Tinder  the  promise  of  saving  him,  gain  her 
favor.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that  he  was 
displeased  with  Beaucaire's  greedy  cunning, 
which  drove  him  directly  upon  his  prey.  His 
displeasure  would  have  been  greater  still,  had 
he  only  known,  or  only  suspectedthat  he  was 
his  rival,  and  tried  to  attain  the  same  end — but 
with  greater'liberties,  and  therefore,  with  less 
artful  malice. 

St.  Luces  was  seeking  for  a  love  intrigue  ; 
he  calculated  that  the  heart  of  the  mourner 
was  the  most  easily  betrayed  by  the  consola- 
tion g\ven  by  a  feigned  compassion;  in  one 
word,  he  wished  to  dishonor  Mary,  but  not 
without  giving  to  her  the  opportunity  of  hiding 
her  weakness  under  a  kind  of  sacred  shrine, 
as  he  thought,  of  uniting  the  safety  of  her 
brother  to  her  favor. 

Beaucairc  had  the  same  plan,  but  in  a  ruder 
form:  "with  the  executioner's  sword  over  the 
brother's  head,  he  designed  to  force  the  fright- 


ened sister  into  his  arms.  He  desired  only 
sensual  enjoyment,  and  was  regardless  of  the 
hatred  of  his  victim. 

St  Luces  being  better  educated,  and  having 
had  many  such  adventures  during  his  lile,  in 
which  his  great  address  and  prepossMeing 
appearance  favored  him — for  in  his  youth  he 
had  been  a  handsome  man — ^thought  that  the 
charm  of  such  a  connexion  must  be  greatly 
increased  by  the  facility  with  which  the  fe- 
male mind  is  deceived.  He  did  not  wish  to 
be  recognsied  under  his  disguise  before  be 
would  himself  dissolve  the  connexion  firtMn  in- 
difference or  satiety.  These  plans  St.  Luces 
and  Beaucaire  most  carefally  .hid  from  each 
other,  and  neither  suspected  the  intention  of 
his  opponent:  first,  because  they  follo^yed 
their  victim  through  totally  different  routes; 
and,  secondly,  because  neither  thought  the 
<4ier  subtle  or  base  enough  to  extort  any  ad- 
vantage from  the  state  of  things.  Beaucaire 
wtis  continually  spying  about  to  find  out  the 
station  of  Louis  in  the  army,  and  the  name 
which  he  now  used.  Like  the  ant-eater,  he 
therefore  lurked  in  the  hidden  darkness  in 
eagernessonly  for  a  letter  from  Mary  to  her 
brother,  to  take  hold  of  him  with  his  nuiligr 
nant  claws.  Then  he  wanted  to  step  before 
the  unhappy  girl,  paralyze  her  by  the  Medusa's 
head  of  his  discovery,  an(^  then  sacrifice  the  un- 
willing girl.  The  death  of  the  mother  was, 
•therefore,  welcome  also  to  him ;  for Jie  right- 
ly supposed  that  the  next  d^  Mary  would 
give  her  brother  information  of  it.  lie  there- 
fore had  spent  money  enough  to  gain  the  in- 
terest of  the  treacherous  official  of  the  post 
office.  But  for  this  time  he  spent  it  in  vain, 
for  Mary's  letter  had  long  since  been  des- 
patched by  the  Countess,  who  had  given  it  to 
a  countryman  going  to  Dresden,  where  it  was 
delivered.  Of  St.  Luces'  intentions  Beaucaire 
had  not  the  least  suspicion,  as  by  flatteries  and 
attentions  he  was  so  easily  lulled  into  self- 
deception.  He  therefore  felt  no  objection  to 
St.  Luces'  promise ;  the  less  so,  as  the  latter 
always  arranged  and  concealed  them  with  the 
greittest  tact. 

It-was  the  first  time  that  St.  Luces  had  met 
Mary  alone.  She  replied  to  his  address  in  a 
few  .bashful  words,  and  wanted  to  withdraw ; 
but  he  acted  as  if  he  had  not  observed  it,  and  . 
by  a  quick  answer  forced  her  to  stay.  "  How 
maliciously  does  fate  alw'ays  lurk  in  our  pjith! 
Who  would  have  thought  that  you,  on  return- 
ing from  that  merry  excursion,  would  find  so 
fearful  a  misfortune  lying  at  your  threshold. 
Oh,  believe  me,  your  loss  was  so  touching, 
that  it  has  left  no  lieart  unmoved;  even  now 
all  thoughts,  all  conversation  continually  turns 
upon  it ;  there  is  hardly  an  eye  in  the  place, 
filled  as  it  is  by  so  many  strangers,  which 
does  not  shed  a  tear  for  your  bitter  fate." 

Mary  shuddered,  for  she  knew  what  influ- 


.Ai._ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


lis 


ence  St.  Luces  had  exercised  upon  the  fate  of 
her  brother,  and  therefore,  she  felt  a  jcertain 
fear  at  his  proximity.  Yet  she  tried  to  ap- 
pear composed. 

"  I  know  well,"  she  said,  after  some  mo- 
ments, "  that  the  sudden  death  of  my  mother 
has  created  a  sensation,  especially  as  it  stood 
in  connexion  with  an  occurrence  by  which 
many  were  appalled.  But  this  misfortune 
must  be  doubly  oppressive  to  the  mourners 
who  love  best  to  seek  uninterrupted  solitude." 

St.  Luces  well  understood  the  meaning  of 
the  last  words,  but  he  did  not  wish  to  under- 
stand them,  and  knew  how  to  subdue  his  an- 
ger excited  by  them.  "  Ceilainly,  certainly," 
he  said ;  "  but  what  the  sufferer  seeks  is  not 
always  the  best.  You  should  not  at  least 
so  wholly  give  yourself  up  to  grief;  for  some 
time  you  should  devote  to  those  who  really 
are»your  friends."    He  was  silent ;  Mary  also. 

"  It  has  almost  become  dark !  It  seems  to 
me  a  duty  to  accompany  you,  as  you  can 
hardly  return  to  the  town  alone,"  St.  Luces 
venturned  once  more. 

"  You  are  right,  I  ought  to  have  gone  be- 
fore," said  IMary  kindly,  saluting  him  and  re- 
tiring. 

Hardly  had  she  reached  the  gate  of  the 
chUrch-yard  when  she  agam  heard  his  steps 
close  behind  her. 

"I  have  struggled  with' myself,"  he  said, 
quickly  stepping  up  to  her, "  whether  it  is  not 
my  duty  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth  without 
being  asked  to  do  so,  whether  these  are  not 
grounds  important  enough  to  excuse  my  med- 
dling with  the  affairs  of  total  strangers.  Know 
then,  that  it  was  not  accident  which  brought 
me  hither.  I  sought  you.  A  danger  is  threat- 
ening one  who  is  very  dear  to  you ;  his  place 
of  refuge  will  soon  be  discovered,  if  it  is  not 
at  this  moment.  Through  heedlessness  you 
may  be  involved  in  the  same  unhappy  fate.  A 
feeling," — here  he  fixed  his  eye  in  confusion 
upon  the  ground, — "  which  younger  men  only 
feel,  but  which  possessed  me  the  first  mo- 
ment I  saw  you,  which  I  cannot  subdue,  has 
])romptcd  me,  I  fear,  to  transgress  my  duties. 
More  I  cannot  Say — ^be  careful  1" 

With  these  broken  words  he  turned  to 
withdraw.  Mary,  who  had  listened  with 
trembling  astonishment,  cried  after  him : 

"  For  lleaven's  sake,  sir,  explain  yourself — 
I  pray  you  to  explain !'' 

St.  Luces  stopped — he  seemed  to  struggle 
with  himself.  "  Explain  ?  ■  Is  it  not  enough 
that  you  understand  me  ?  I  transgress  my 
duty — ^and  yet,  when  I  see  your  tears,  who 
can  resist  them  f  He  made  one  step  nearer 
to  Mary  and  took  her  hand,  which,  irresolute, 
she  neither  gave  nor  withheld. 

At  this  moment  the  branches  close  by 
them  rustled,  and  Berno  stood  before  them. 
Mary's  pale  fiice  was  overspread  by  a  deep 
blush,  on  being  found  in  this  solitary  place, 


in  so  confidential  a  position,  alone  with  a 
stranger.  She  did  not  suspect  that  Bemo 
was  her  guardian  angel,  for  in  tfie  surprise, 
St.  Luces  miglit  perhaps  have  succeeded  in 
gaihing  her  confidence,  and  thus  have  totally 
destroyed  her. 

Bemo  himself  was  still  too  young  and  inno- 
cent for  drawing  an  ingenious  suspicion  from 
so  trifling  a  circumstance.  His  poetical  rov- 
ings  had  led  him  to  the  grave-yard,  where 
many  an  early  friend  lay  sleeping. 

When  he  saw  Mary,  of  whom  he  had  like- 
wise heard,  he  approached  and  addressed  her : 

"  Oh,  you  are  here.  I  see  you  again  after 
that  beautiful,  never-to-be-forgotten  day. — 
Who  would  have  thought  that  I  " 

Guided  by  a  feeling  of  purity  and  inno- 
cence, he  took  Mary's  hand  and  kissed  it  with 
youthful  respect.  It  was  as  if  a  veil  fell 
from  Mary's  eyes,  and  a  heavy  weight  from 
her  heart.  For  when  Berno's  true  feelings 
stood  by  the  side  of  St.  Luces'  hypocrisy,  siie 
saw  the  victory  of  the  simple  features  of 
truth  over  the  artful  vizard  of  deception.  The 
ditterence  was  striking.  Mary  shuddered,  al- 
though she  knew  not  clearly  why.  A  smile, 
a  pressure  of  her  hand,  was  the  only  answer 
which  she  could  give.  It  thanked  the  young 
friend  for  his  compassion  and  for  his  guile- 
lessness,  for  a  glance  at  his  features  convinced 
her  that  not  the  slightest  spark  of  suspicion 
had  entered  his  pure  soul. 

"  It  is  late :  I  must  go,"  she  said,  after  a 
few  moments. 

"  Yes,  so  late  that  I  cannot  possibly  let  you 
go  alone,"  exclaimed  St.  Luces ;  and  Bemo 
added,  with  the  purest  kindness — 

"  Yes,  we  certainly  must  accompany  5'ou.'' 

Mary  breathed  easier  when  this  pure  guar- 
dian angel  joined  her ;  but  in  the  features  of 
St.  Luces  the  awkwardly  concealed  rage  at 
Berno's  interference  appeared  so  strikingly, 
that  even  with  the  most  plausible  words  he 
was  unable  to  suppress  the  suspicion  which 
was  rising  in  Mary's  soul. 

Little  was  spoken  during  the  walk.  Mar}' 
hurried  to  get  home.  When  they  were  in 
the  first  street  of  the  suburb  a  strange  figure 
came  up  from  behind,  closely  passing  the 
three,  cast  a  rapid  glance  sideways,  saluted, 
and  in  passing  said,  "  Bon  soir,  Monsic-^ir  dc 
Sl  Luces  .'■'  This  latter  returned  the  salute 
in  some  confusion,  for  it  was  Beaucaire. 

The  hotel  in  which  the  Countess  lived  was 
reached.  With  a  mute,  confused  salute, 
Mary  took  leave  of  her  companions.  She 
ran  immediately  up  stairs  and  told  what  had 
happened.  The  Countess  expressed  increased 
suspicion  against  St.  Luces  for  his  equivocal 
conduct. 

The  clock  of  the  castle  church  had  just 
struck  ten,  and,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
the  bathing  place,  the  ladies  prepared  to  go  to 
bed,  when  the  bell  of  the  door  was  violently 


114 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


rang.  The  servant  brought  a  letter  which  an 
unluiown  man  had  deUvered.  The  address 
was  to  Mafy.  She  opened  it,  and  found  only 
a  shp  of  paper  with  the  words :  "  Beware  of 
M.  de  St  Luces ! — Your  Friend." 

WJio  was  the  mysterious  admonisher  ?  In 
vain  the  ladies  tried  to  guess.  The  only  one 
whom  they  could  suspect  was  Berno.  And 
yet  wfiat  could  he  know  or  suspect  ? 

Filled  witli  new,  painful  anxieties,  Mary  had 
lain  down  to  rest,  but  frightful  scenes  ever 
crept  into  hex  dreams,  and  often  she  awoke 
from  the  deep  trouble  of  her  feverish  slum- 
ber. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Mary  had  only  desired  to  stay  in  Toplitz 
until  her  mother  should  be  buried  and  the  dif- 
ferent necessary  steps  made  wliich  the  law 
prescribes  in  cases  of  death.  Then  it  was 
most  natural  that  she  should  repair  to  the 
sister  of  the  deceased  and  place  herself  under 
her  protectioij  and  that  of  her  other  friendly 
relatives.  She  had  only  by  letter  given  in- 
formation of  the  sad  event,  and  was  still  ex- 
pecting an  answer. 

After  this  impatient,  painful,  half-sleepless 
night,  she  was  finally  refreshed  during  a  soft 
morning  slumber,  with  the  pleasant  dreams 
which  held  lier  in  their  ties  beyond  the  usual 
hour.  When  she  opened  her  eyes  it  was 
broad  daylight,  and  the  sun  already  shone 
over  the  tops  of  the  opposite  houses  into  her 
room.  Almost  ashamed  at  having  slept  so 
long,  she  quickly  dressed  and  entered  the 
common  breaktast-room.  On  opening  the 
door,  she  saw,  witli  astonishment,  several 
ladies  in  mourning.  Before  she  had  time 
for  observation  she  found  herself  locked  in  the 
embrace  of  loving  arms.  It  was  Emma,  who, 
oitting  at  the  window,  near  the  door,  had  seen 
her  first.  The  happy,  surprised,  yet  melan- 
choly exclamation  of  both  gii-ls  caused  the 
other  ladies,  who  had  not  heard  Mary's  noise- 
less openirg  of  tlie  door,  to  spring  up  and 
hasten  towards  her.  They  Avere  Julia  and 
her  mother.  All  three  had  come  to  see  Mary 
in  her  dreary  solitude,  and  take  lior  back  to 
their  home. 

Love  and  friendship  struggled  now.  The 
Countess  and  Lodoiska  would  not  part  with 
Mary,  yet  her  reliitives  wished  to  take  her 
with  them  as  soon  as  possible.  Finally,  it 
was  resolved  that  the  Countess  ai:d  Lodoitka 
should  accompany  Mary  and  remain  for  some 
days  on  the  farm.  The  departure  was  fixed 
for  the  next  morning. 

After  they  had  been  for  some  time  in  an 
absorbing  conversation,  the  visitors  expressed 


a  wish  to  see  the  grave  of  the  deceased. 
Mary  conducted  them  thither. 

They  had  almost  reached  the  city  gates 
when  they  saw  a  crowd  of  men  collected  in 
a  side  street,  which  blocked  up  the  way. 
They  were  about  to  inquire  into  the  cause, 
when  Berno  stepped  up  to  them  and  told 
them  that  one  of  the  post  office  clerks  had 
just  been  arrested,  as  it  had  been  proved  that 
he  had  taken  money  and  letters  containing 
money ;  and  that  the  judges  were  now  en- 
gaged in  searching  the  dwelling  of  the  cri- 
minal. 

This  event  would  not  have  attracted  Mary's 
attention  to  any  great  degree  had  she  not 
suspected  that  she  was  also  injured  by  this 
treachery.  Now,  it  was  possible,  even  pro- 
bable, that  St.  Luces  was  informed  of  all,  and 
that  his  warning  had  a  foundation  ;  but  she 
had  been  cautioned  also  against  him.  Who 
was  to  solve  these  riddles  to  her  ?  Who  was 
it  that  knew  so  intimately  her  most  secret 
connexions  1 

While  she  still  entertained  these  frightful 
and  confused  thoughts,  a  pretty  peasant  girl, 
although  her  appearance  betrayed  a  loose 
mode  of  life,  approached  her  and  offered  her 
flowers  for  sale.  Mary  refused ;  but  the  girl 
renewed  her  prayer  with  the  flattering  address 
■of  a  persuading  pedlar. 

"  This  bunch  you  will  certainly  take,"  she 
said ;  "  there  are  there  roses  in  it,  and  so  late 
in  the  season."  At  the  same  time  she  almost 
forcibly  pressed  it  into  Mary's  hand,  adding, 
in  a  low  tone,  "For  your  brother's  .  sake !" 
Mary  was  frightened,  and  the  girl  smiled  and 
continued,  with  feigned  indiil'erence  :  "  Yes, 
keep  this,  it  is  the  fairest  of  all,  and  costs  but 
throe  kreutzers."  Mary  wanted  to  question 
the  girl,  but  with  a  wink  of  the  eye  she  closed 
her  lips  and  whispered  the  words,  "  Deepest 
secret." 

Meanwhile  Berno,  to  show  himself  oblig- 
ing, wanted  to  buy  flowers  for  the  ladies  from 
the  girl.  He  did  so ;  and  with  a  gay  spirit  the 
girl  took  the  money  and  threw  another  glance 
at  Mary,  as  if  to  say,  "  Do  not  betray  your- 
self by  a  syllable;"  and  gaily  ran  away  to  of- 
fer her  fragrant  vendibles  to  other  promena^ 
ders. 

iVIary  was  so  struck  with  the  adventure  that 
she  trembled  even  at  the  grave,  which  they 
soon  reached.  Her  thoughts  were  not  with 
the  deceased,  but  in  the  midst  of  the  world's 
confusion.  Being  so  little  versed  in  the  mys- 
teries of  intrigue,  she  had  not  thought  of  ex- 
amining closely  tlie  bunch  of  flowers ;  an  ac- 
cidental glance,  however,  led  her  to  obserA'e  a 
slip  of  paper  in  it.  With  excited  expectations 
she  unobscnedly  drew  it  out  and  read  the 
words :  "  You  can  save  your  brother  if  you 
will  come  this  evening,  precisely  at  nine 
o'clock,  alone,  into  the  castle  garden,  at  the 
old  linden  tree.    He  is  lost  if  you  stay  away 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


115 


or  'betray  a  syllable.    For  the  second  time, 
beware  of  M.  de  St.  Luces !" 

After  reading  these  lines,  Mary  stood  as  if 
petrified.  What  new  and  horrible  secret,  if 
this  invitation  and  yesterday's  warning  came 
from  the  same  hand !  The  paths  of  her  life 
thus  entangled  in  a  deep  labyrinth — more  fear- 
fully they  approached  the  brink  of  an  abyss. 
Alas,  she  deeply  felt  that  a  storm  had  driven 
her  far  from  the  holy  island  of  innocent  child- 
hood. The  soft  carpet  of  the  meadows,  on 
which,  beneath  the  peaceful  shades,  she  had 
till  now  unobservedly  but  happily  wandered, 
was  shaken  and  swallowed  up  by  a  terrible 
earthquake.  In  its  place  now  rolled  the  vast 
and  boundless  ocean,  and  frightfully  lashed 
its  waves  against  the  dangerous  cliffs. 

Ought  she  to  disclose  the  secret  ?  Ought 
she  to  put  confidence  in  those  who  loved  her, 
and  rely  upon  their  protection  ?  But  could 
they  save  her  brother  if  passion  or  malice 
wished  to  destroy  him  1 

"  No,  I  will  risk  it ;  it  is  my  holiest  duty  to 
enter  upon  it,"  she  thought  with  resolution ; 
"  finally,  these  riddles  must  be  solved.  And 
who  is  it  that  tempts  me,  then,  to  meet  a  new 
misfortune  ?  May  it  not  be  some  magnani- 
mous friend,  whom  I  might  draw  into  diffi- 
culty, if  I  should  break  the  secret?  You, 
my  mother,  look  from  the  blissful  regions 
into  my  trembling  heart !  May  your  guardian 
spirit  hover  over  me,  and  in  Him  I  will  con- 
fide !"  After  this  firm  resolution  her  soul  be- 
came calm. 

The  day  passed,  and  the  ninth  hour  ap- 
proached. Mary  went  into  her  room,  sealed 
the  mysterious  paper  she  had  received,  and 
enclosed  it  in  an  envelope,  on  whicli  she  wrote 
these  words :  "  To  those  dear  to  me ;  but  to 
be  opened  only  if  I  shall  not  have  returned 
before  midnight."  This  letter  she  put  upon 
the  table  ;  when,  Avrapping  herself  up  in  her 
cloak,  she  quietly  left  the  room  and  the  house, 
to  repair  to  the  appointed  place. 

It  was  already  dark  and  gloomy.  She 
trembled,  but  kept  her  purpose.  With  fear 
she  entered  the  long  silent  walks.  The  lin- 
den tree  stood  in  the  remotest  part  of  the 
garden.  This  increased  her  fear.  A  gar- 
dener met  her  and  looked  at  her  with  evident 
surprise.  Suddenly,  it  struck  her  that  she 
might  secure  the  assistance  of  this  man,  with- 
out disclosing  anything  to  him.  She  turned 
round  and  accosted  him.  "My  friend,  are 
you  inclined  to  earn  a  good  reward?"  she  said. 
"  For  that,  I  am  ready  at  any  time,"  said  the 
man. 

"  Then  sit  down  for  an  hour  on  this  bench, 
or  keep  yourself  moving ;  but  take  care  you 
are  not  observed.  This  first ;  when  I  return 
you  will  get  thrice  as  much.  But,  if  you  hear 
me  cry  aloud  for  assistance,  then  hurry  to  the 
large  linden  tree  yonder,  near  the  garden 
waU." 


"Where  the  man  in  the  cloak  stands f 
asked  the  gardener. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mary,  alarmed. 
"  Hem,  hem  !  Your  grace  had  better 
not  go  there  at  all,"  he  replied,  shaking  his 
head.  "  To  that  man,  strangers  in  the  gar- 
den are  just  as  unwelcome  as  they  may  be 
agreeable  to  your  grace.  He  has  just  given 
me  five  guilders  to  give  up  work  and  go 
home." 

"  May  be  so,"  siud  Mary,  trembUng ;  "  nei- 
ther do  I  want  you  to  come  there :  only  stay 
near  the  place."  With  these  words  she  gave 
him  more  money. 

The  gardener  again  shook  his  head  and  re- 
mained silent  for  some  moments.     Finally,  he 
said,  "  Well,  I  shall  do  what  I  can.    I  will 
stay  here,  and  your  grace  may  confide  in  me. 
But  take  good  care.    The  man  appears  to  me 
just  like  an  ItaUan  brigand,  whom  I  got  ac- 
quainted with  when  I  was  in  Naples,  in  the 
service  of  the  Duke  of  Clary.    But,-  your 
grace  will  excuse  my  talk.     You  will  best 
know  what  you  have  to  do,  and  with  whom." 
"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Mary,  with  a 
tone  which  clearly  expressed  the  contrary. 
She  was  shaken  in  her  resolution  ;  but,  with 
renewed  strength  she  said  to  herself:  "  The 
dearest  thou  hast,  thy  reputation,  thou  hast 
risked  already ;  and  now,  thou  shouldst  trem- 
ble for  thy  life  ?     Folly !     And  what  interest 
should  anybody  have  in  thy  death  ?    It  is  no- 
thing— it  is  an  imaginary  danger;  and  the 
duty  of  a  sister  demands  what  I  am  doing." 
With  quick  steps  she  continued  her  way. 
When  she  drew  near  the  linden  tree  she  saw 
a  dark  figure  walking  up  and  down.    Slowly 
and  reluctantly  she  approached ;  but  the  un- 
known person   had   scarcely  observed  her, 
when  he  quickly  stepped  up  and  addressed 
her  in  these  words :  "  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
you  had  courage  to  comply  with  my  re- 
quest" 

An  icy  shudder  ran  through  Mary's  veins 
when  she  heard  this  voice.  It  was  Beau- 
caire's;  towards  whom,  from  the  first,  she 
had  entertained  an  ungovernable  aversion. 
But  she  composed  herself,  as  she  clearly  felt 
the  necessity  of  arming  herself  against  this 
man  with  all  the  firmness  and  spirit  which 
the  feeling  of  innocence  and  right  can  gi\|e  to 
a  woman. 

"  I  was,  indeed,  obliged  to  come,"  she  re- 
pUed ;  "  for  you  frightened  me  hither  with  a 
mysterious  threat,  which  makes  it  a  duty  to 
take  a  step,  which,  under  other  circumstan- 
ces, I  would  not  have  done  at  any  price." 

Beaueaire  seemed  displeased  with  this  an- 
swer, which,  by  its  firmness,  seemed  to  cut 
him  off  at  once  from  the  fulfilment  of  his 
wishes.  He  felt  that  his  undertaking  would 
not  be  easy ;  tlierefore,  he  resolved  to  ad- 
vance with  an  iron  head  and  a  shameless 
tongue.    "  You  speak,"  he  commenced,  "  in 


lift 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


a  proud  tone,  which,  it  appears  to  me,  is  to- 
tally unbefitting  you.  Know,  then,  that  the 
fate  of  your  brother  is  in  my  hand ;  that  I 
alone  am  able  to  save  or  to  destroy  him.  I 
know  his  place  of  refuge ;  he  has  taken  a 
cunning  choice  :  at  least  he  is  where  least  of 
all  he  will  be  sought — in  the  army." 

Mary  stood  speechless ;  terror  hiad  deprived 
her  of  breath. 

"  You  might,  therefore,"  added  Beaucaire, 
with  ironical  importance, "  well  do  something 
more  than  what  I  have  till  now  asked  of  you 
— ^if  you  care  about  the  assistance  of  a  man 
on  whose  lips  hangs  the  death  or  the  life  of 
your  brother.     But  do  you  feel  ill  ]"   . 

Mary  had  been  obliged  to  lean  for  suj^rt 
against  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Almost  em- 
bracing her,  with  rude  impudence  Beaucaire 
conducted  her  to  a  garden  bench  close  by. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mary,  forcibly  raising  her- 
self, "  what  I  can  do  for  my  brother.  I  will 
not  shrink  from  the  severest  task.  The  ful- 
lest thanks  of  a  loving  sister  you  may  be 
sure  of,  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  point 
out  to  me  the  means  of  saving  liim." 

"  Before  all  things,"  interrupted  Beaucaire, 
quickly, "  tell  me  in  what  manner  I  can  safely 
transmit  papers  of  importance  to  your  bro- 
ther, for  he  must  immediately  \yi  informed, 
and  provided  with  tlie  means  for  escajring ; 
as  the  discovery  of  his  retreat  is  liable  to 
take  place  every  day,  even  every  hour." 

Mary  had  already  regained  so  much  com- 
posure as  not  to  be  surprised  by  the 
subtle  question  of  Beaucaire."  "  Give  to  me 
whatever  you  may  have  to  send  to  my  bro- 
ther," she  quickly  said ;  "  I  shall  safely  for- 
ward it  to  him.  Of  any  other  way  I  cannot 
tell  you." 

Beaucaire  at  this  answer  gnashed  his  teeth 
with  rage.  Mary  had  hardly  made  it,  than 
she  was  herself  astonished  at  the  haj^  re- 
ply. But,  in  the  short  space  of  a  few  seconds 
a  Ung  train  of  thoughts  and  a  combination  of 
circumstances  had  passed  tlirough  her  mind, 
which  necessarily  filled  her  with  the  strongest 
suspicions  of  Beaucaire.  The  accident  with 
the  post  oflicial  now  left  her  no  doubt  that 
the  privacy  of  lier  letters  had  been  invaded. 
With  accuracy  she  recalled  to  her  memory 
the'contents  of  Louis'  last  letter,  to  consider 
whether  anything  in  it  could  give  any  infor- 
mation about  his  residenoe,  his  name,  or  situ- 
ation. With  free  breath  she  recollected  that 
nothing  but  his  presence  in  the  army  could 
have  been  betrayed  by  the  letter.  With  that 
keen  eye  and  the  increased  mental  power 
which  in  moments  of  danger  inspire  innocent 
souls,  she,  in  whom  no  guile  found  a  lodg- 
ment, discovered  tlie  snare  of  ruin  in  which 
she  was  about  to  be  caught ;  although  she 
could  not  suspect  the  blackest  depths  of  the 
abyss  into  which  Beaucaire  wished  to  drag 
ber. 


*It  appears,"  he  finally  said,  with  an  in. 
jured  tone,  "  that  you  mistrust  me ;  although, 
by  this  meeting  I  have  already  given  you 
some  proof  of  my  good  intentions  towards 
you.  But,  consider  that  I  have  also  need  to 
be  cautious.  In  my  position  I  cannot  act  en- 
tirely regardless  of  the  severity  of  the  law. 
If,  from  compassion,  I  risk  its  infringement,,  I 
must  have  full  security  that  no  responsiWlity 
can  possibly  fall  upon  me.  On  such  danger- 
ous tracks  one  can  trust  only  one's-self " 

"  How !"  exclaimed  Mary  with  animation, 
"do  you  fear  to  be  betrayed  by  the  aster 
whose  tHt>ther  you  save?" 

"  Not  intentionally,  but  carelessness,  want 
of  precaution,  of  knowledge  of  circumstan- 
ces." 

"  All  this  is  impossible  in  this  ease,"  inter- 
rupted Mary,  "  for  the  method  which  I  take 
would  simply  prevent  inconvenience." 

"  So  you  mistrust  me  ?"  said  Beaucdire  fu- 
riously. 

Mary  trembled ;  it  was  not  her  intention  to 
exasperate  him.  With  a  soft  tone  of  voice 
she  therefore  replied :  "  I  hold  the  secret  of 
another;  you  will  certainly  not  ask  me  to 
betray  it.  From  the  faithfiilness  with  which 
I  fulfil  this  older  duty  you  may  take  assur- 
ance that  I  shall  be  still  more  careful,  more 
cautions  towards  you,  wtio  bestow  on  me  a 
kindness  which  my  eternal  thankfulness  would 
be  unable  to  reward." 

Beaucaire  felt  confused;  the  noHe,  firmy 
and  yet  mild  behavior  of  Mary  exercised  an 
irresistible  power  over  his  callouS'  heart,  so 
that  he  almost  lost  all  courage  to  make  to  her 
those  offers  tor  whicli,  in  reality,  he  had  alone 
asked  this  interview.  Involuntarily  his  con- 
versation \vith  her,  which,  by  means  of  the 
consternation  of  his  first  threats,  he  thought 
to  bring  at  once  to  the  desired  conclusion,  had 
taken  a  totally  different  turn,  and  he  now  saw 
himself  completely  cut  off  from  the  course  he 
had  thought  to  pursue.  But  his  anger  at 
himself,  because  his  resolution  was  shaken  by 
^r  words  of  a  feeble  girl,  his  shame  at  his 
hardened  villany,  caused  him  suddenly  to 
throw  off  his  mask. 

"■  For  thanks,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  indeed,  and 
I  have  a  right  to  expect  that  a  handsome 
sister,  who  alone  possesses  the  best  means, 
will  pay  the  debt  for  an  important  service 
rendered  to  her  brother." 

With  these  word»  he  seized  Mary's  right 
hand  in  both  of  his,  and  kissed  it  in  a  man- 
ner, which  suddenly  opened  to  the  frightened 
girl  a  new  view  of  the  hidden  background  of 
his  intentions. 

Alarmed,  she  shrank  back  and  exclaimed : 
"  Gracious  God !  what  do  you  want  ?"  But 
Beaucaire  held  fast,  trying  to  draw  her  closer 
to  him,  and  said :  "  Be  not  so  frightened,  my 
dear ;  the  life  of  the  brother  is  well  worth  the 
kiss  of  a  sister !"  i     „       ■ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


117 


"  Wretch !"  cried  JH?jy,  who  now  perceived 
the  whole  villany.  "  Leave  me,  or  I  will  cry 
for  help." 

"  Silence,  silence  I"  replied  Beaucaire,  Avith- 
out  releasing  his  grasp ;  "  listen  to  me.  Your 
brother  is  in  the  army ;  to-morrow  I  leave  for 
head-qoarters.  There  I  shall  find  means  in 
two  hours  to  find  out  where  he  is,  and  only 
twenty-four  hours  by  court  martial  intervene 
between  the  accusation  and  the  execution. 
Your  brother  has  merited  death,  his  life  is  in 
my  hands,  and  in  yours.     Will  you " 

"  Never !"  exclaimed  Mary,  forcibly  tearing 
herself  from  him.  "My  brother  would  de- 
spise a  fife  which  he  must  purchase  thus! 
Dare  not  approach  me ;  a  single  cry  from  me 
brings  me  help." 

"  Do  not  fear  force,"  replied  Beaucaire,  with 
suppressed  fury,  "  I  am  no  savage  beast  that 
will  tear  you.  Yet  for  the  last  time  I  advise," 
he  continued  with  icy  coldness;  "do  not 
refuse  my  ofier  for  the  last  time.  Here, 
behind  the  castle  garden  is  a  carriage — 
it  will  take  you  to  a  safe  place.  There  I  will 
meet  you  within  two  hours,  and  hand  you  the 
papers  which  will  safely  guide  your  brother 
to  England,  whither  he  can  go  unmolested. 
You  may  send  them  to  him  in  your  own  way. 
Make  now  your  decision." 

Mary  stood  with  the  most  violent  struggle 
going  on  within  herself.  Suddenly  she  cast 
herself  at  Beaucaiye's  feet,  embraced  his 
knees,  and  with  violent  sobs  exclaimed :  "  No, 
it  is  impossible  !  I  cannot  believe  in  the  re- 
ality of  your  terrible  threats.  It  is  only  a 
cruel  experiment,  too  cruel.  Stop,  I  pray  you, 
put  an  end  to  my  fears,  and  to  my  tears.  Let 
me  not  longer  remain  in  this  dreadful  torture. 
I  did  you  injustice,  and  now  you  punish  me 
for  it.  But  it  is  enough,  I  have  atoned  enough ! 
Return  now  to  the  truth  !  Alas,  you  do  not 
know  the  pangs  in  the  heart  of  a  sister,  who 
is  trembling,  for  the  life  of  an  only  brother, 
alas,  the  only  friend  whom  she  now  pos- 
sesses on  eaxth." 

"Get  up,  somebody  comes,"  said  Beau- 
caire roughly,  but  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  the  old  gardener,  whose  attendon 
had  been  excited  by  the  animated  conversa^ 
tion,  and  approached. 

"  No,  no !"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  not  before  you 
sweai'to  me " 

"  You  are  mad,"  replied  Beaucaire  wildly, 
as  he  raised  her  by  force.  "Will  you  fol- 
low me  or  not  ?  for  time  passes !" 

"  Never !"  exclaimed  Mary,  with  returning 
strength  and  consciousness,  raising  herself 
majestically.  "  My  brother  would  curse,  and 
despise  me.  Go  then,  bloody  monster,  and 
fulfil  thy  crime!  Add  this  new  horror  to 
the  nameless  wrongs  thy  accursed  people 
have  heaped  upon  our  country.  I  care  for 
nothing  more  I    Death  is  but  for  a  moment^ 


the  other  world  is  eternal.  Murder  me  too, 
if  thou  wouldst.  We  do  not  tremble  at 
death !  I  am  a  woman,  who  knows  how  to 
die.  Think  not  then  that  our  men  do  not 
also  know  how !  My  brother  will  bless  me 
for  having  refused  to  save  his  life  by  so  dis- 
graceful  an  act." 

Beaucaire  stood  tortured  by  fury  and 
shame  before  this  noble  insulted  woman  ;  he 
was  afraid  of  flying,  and  did  not  dare  to  stay. 
"  You  will  repent  your  madness !"  he  finally 
exclaimed  in  a  suppressed,  low  voice,  as  the 
gardener  approached  nearer.  He  pressed  his 
hat  over  •  his  eyes,  and  departing  with  quick 
steps  was  soon  lost  in  the  dark  walks. 

Mary  had  covered  her  tearful  face ;  in  a  few 
moments  she  raised  it  again,  and  uttered, 
looking  towards  the  sky :  "  Thou,  my  mother, 
who  art  above  the  stars,  thou  wilt  be  near 
me,  since  now  I  am  left  alone  on  earth."  Ex- 
hausted, she  tottered  to  the  bench  and  sank 
down.  The  kind  old  gardener  now  stepped 
up  to  her  and  asked: 

"  Did  I  act  roughly,  to  interrupt  your  grace  ? 
But  God  knows,  I  heard  such  violent  talk, 
that  I  got  frightened  lest  something  dreadful 
might  happen." 

"  No,  good  old  man,"  replied  Mary,  "  you 
did  right!  But  will  you  see  me  home  now? 
I  am  so  exhausted ;  I  will  willingly  reward 
you  for  it" 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  he  rephed, 
and  supported  by  his  arm,  Mary  left  the  gar- 
den with  tottering  steps  for  the  house  of  her 
friends. 


CHAPTER  XLL 

"  What  the  deuce  is  that  again  ?"  Bernard 
exclaimed,  who,  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak,  lay 
by  the  bivouac  fire ;  and  as,  by  the  grasp  of  a 
man's  hand,  he  was  arooseid  from  a  few  mi- 
nutes' slumber.  "  Ah  !  it  is  thou,  Louis,"  he 
immediately  added,  on  recognising  his  friend. 
"  Back  already  ?  Well,  didst  thou  meet  with 
an)rthing  particular  at  Witepsk  ?" 

"  Yes,  several  things,"  replied  Louis  ;  "  but 
art  thou  not  angry  with  me  for  disturbing 
thee  at  tliis  unseasonable  hour  1" 

"  I  am  not  so  very  tired,  but  that  I  can  talk 
yet  for  an  hour  or  so.  Say  on  what  thou 
hast  to  say." 

"First,  guess  whom  I  met  with  in  Wi- 
tepsk ?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  the  Grand  Mogul,  or  the 
Pope,  or  the  King  of  England  ?" 

"  No  ;  seriously,  BemaiS." 

"  Seriously,  I  tell  thee :  for  how,  among  so 


i'l8 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE,-  OR, 


many  thoasand  chances,  should  I  hit  upon 
the  only  true  one  ?  So  all  my  guessing 
would  come  to  nothing.  But  whom  didst 
thou  see  ?" 

"  I  was  passing  by  a  house  in  a  cross  street, 
when  suddenly  I  heard  a  sweet  female  voice. 
I  turned  round  in  surprise  ;  and,  in  a  window 
half  concealed  by  roses  and  flowers,  I  saw 
the  young  cantatrice  from  Warsaw." 

"What!  Frangoise  Alisettef  cried  Ber- 
nard, interrupting  his  friend,  in'  perfect  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Yes,  herself." 

"  Art  thou  certain  ?  Didst  speak  ■with 
ber?" 

"  No  ;  because  she  drew  back  the  instant 
she  saw  me.  I  am  sore  my  eyes  did  not  de- 
ceive me." 

"  Ahem  !"  mumbled  Bernard  to  liimself 
"  Should  my  suspicions  prove  to  be  so  very 
correct ;  listen,  Louis,  I  would  almost  bet 
anything  that  Colonel  Regnard  is  there  with 
his  regiment." 

"  Thou  art  mistaken.  I  met  hhn,  it  is  true ; 
but  his  regiment  is  qunrtered  at  Ostrowno." 

"  Pish !"  answered  Bernard,  "  that  is  only 
five  leagues ;  and  these  any  one  can  ride  hi 
two  hours  with  ease." 

"  Now,  listen  to  another  thing.  I  think  ft 
would  be  best  not  to  say  anything  about  this 
to  Jaromir,  if  he  don't  know  it  already."^ 

"  I  do  not  think  he  does ;  but  why  ?"  asked 
Louis  in  sui-prise. 

"  For  various  reasons.  I  think,  in  the  first 
place,  that  Regnard  is  jealous  of  him,  and 
that  might  cause  an  unpleasant  catastrophe  ; 
secondly,  I  somewhat  suspect  that  the  colo- 
nel is  not  far  from  having  good  cause,  at  least 
in  as  far  as  the  bewitching  Alisette  is  con- 
cerned. Already,  in  Warsaw,  she  threw  some- 
sheeps'  eyes  at  Jaromir,  which  might  become 
dangerous  to  an  mexperieneed  greenhorn  like 
him,  in  these  matters.  Silence  is  therefore, 
no  doubt,  the  most  advisable." 

"  Just  as  thou  tiiinkest  best,"  said  Louis, 
consentingty. 

This  colloquy  between  the  two  friends  was 
broken  off  by  a  pistol-shot,  heard  close  by. 
The  men,  who  were  resting  around  the  fire 
of  their  out-posts,  sprang  to  their  arms,  ex- 
pecting instantly  to  be  engaged  in  a  skirmish. 
They  listened  for  a  repetition  of  the  report ; 
all  remained  silent,  except  that  persons  were 
heard  speaking  in  an  earnest  and  animated 
manner,  in  the  direction  of  the  farthest  ad- 
vanced vidette.  Boleslaus,  who  had  the  com- 
mand there,  sent  Serjeant  Petrowski  with  a 
{)atrol,  to  learn  what  had  happened.  The 
atter  returned,  after  a  few  minutes,  bringing 
with  him,  as  prisoners,  a  young  man  and 
woman,  the  latter  of  whom,  from  her  dress, 
seemed  to  be  a  Russian.  The  young  woman 
in  great  terror  clung  closely  to  her  compa- 


nion's arm,  and  tremblingly  endeavored  to 
hide  herself  from  the  curious  and  somewhat 
rude  looks  of  the  surrounding  soldiers. 

"'Pon  honor,  a  pretty  chiM!"  Bernard 
exclaimed,  turning  to  Louis,  as  they  passed 
by,  and  the  watch-fire  threw  its  light  upon 
the  group ;  but  scarcely  had  he  uttered  the 
words,  when  the  young  man  stopped  and  ad- 
dressed him.  "  Oh  !  sir,  you  are  a  German ; 
help  a  poor  countryman  in  trouble,  as  he 
speaks  (Mily  German  or  Russian,  neither  of 
which  these  Poles  can  or  will  understand." 

"  Very  willingly.  I  will  go  with  you,"  an- 
swered Bernard. 

Boleslaus  had  also  came  up,  and  asked  the 
Serjeant  who  these  people  were,  and  what 
they  wanted. 

"  They  have  just  been  stopped,  while  tra- 
velling in  a  kibitka,"  answered  the  old  grey- 
beard. "  When  we  challenged  them,  they  gave 
no  answer,  but  tried  instantly  to  turn  back ; 
and  when  the  sentry  fired  his  pistol,  they 
stopped.     They  are  probably  spies," 

Bernard  now  interfered,  and  aslied  per- 
mission of  Boleslaus  to  address  them  in  Ger- 
man. "Where  do  you  come  froml"  he  deman- 
ded, in  that  language  ; "  what  are  your  names, 
and  the  object  of  your  journey  ?" 

"  Oh !  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  our  ob- 
ject is  only  to  get  back  to  Germany,  where  I 
was  born.  My  name  is  Paul ;  and  "this  is  my 
wife  Axinia,  a  Russian,  Till  now  I  have 
sened  as  gardener  on  the  estate  of  Count 
Dolgorow ;  but  when  the  war  broke  up  ever)'^- 
thing,  he  dismissed  me,  to  go  home  to  my  na- 
tive country." 

"  Have  you  any  papers,  my  friends,  which 
will  confirm  this  statement  V*  w^as  further 
asked  by  Bernard. 

"Oh  !  yes ;  the  ver}'  best  papers,  sir,"  Paul 
answered,  taking  from  his  poeket-book  his 
certificate  of  baptism,  his  testimonials  of  ser- 
vice, and  a  Russian  passport,  dated  at  Smo>- 
lensko ;  all  of  which  he  handed  to  Bernard. 

"  The  papers  may  all  be  very  ccwrect ;  but 
Russian  passports,  you  must  understand,  are 
not  of  any  value  in  passing  through  a  Frencli 
army.  Though  I  feel  sorry  for  you,  yet  you 
will  have  to  be  sent  back," 

"  Oh,  Heavens !  then  I  am  lost !"'  cried  Paul ; 
"  for  it  is  only  tkrough  a  miracle,  as  it  were, 
that  I  have  been  able  thus  far  to  escape  the 
hordes  of  roving  Cossacks,  with  ray  little  pro- 
perty, for  they  are  prowling  about  every- 
where. I  pray  you,  good  sir,  if  possible,  help 
us  through ;  for  v/e  are  truly  honest  persons, 
and  ask  for  nothing  but  to  be  allowed  to  pur- 
sue our  journey  \vithout  molestation." 

"  Why  did  you  not  follow  the  high  road  t« 
Witepsk  ?  and  why  do  you  travel  in  the  nigbt 
time  ?    That  looks  suspicious,  my  friend." 

"  Only  to  avoid  the  Cossacks ;  and  besides, 
we  were  told  that  we  might  pass  by  the  wing 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


IIS 


of  the  army,  and  then,  without  further  diffi- 
culty, reach  Boiszikowo,  and  then  the  high 
road  to  Wilna." 

"  Well,  you  would  meet  with  marauders 
enough  there  too,"  Bernard  observed ;  con- 
sidering in  his  own  mind  in  what  way  he 
could  possibly  help  them.  "  They  seem  to 
be  altogellier  honest  and  inoffensive  people," 
he  said  to  Boleslaus ; "  but,  even  if  you  let 
them  pass,  sir,  it  will  not  help  them  much,  for 
they  will  be  stopped  again  at  every  step ;  and 
the  more  so,  as  the  young  woman  is  a  kind 
of  article  for  which  I  would  not  take  the  in- 
surance upon  myself  on  this  desolate  route, 
from  here  to  Wilna,  with  marauders  and 
night  wanderers  constantly  cruising  about, 
and  the  Jews  and  peasants  to  rob  them  of 
everything  the  others  may  leave." 

'■  What  is  the  matter  there  V  suddenly  dcr 
manded  a  voice.  It  was  Rasinski,  who,  in  his 
cloak,  and  his  cap  pressed  over  his  eyes,  un- 
expectedly stepped  between  them.  Bernard 
reported  the  case. 

" In  whose  service  were  you  employed?" 
said  Rasinski. 

"  In  Count  Dolgorow's,"  Paul  replied. 

"  Your  papers  ?" 

Paul  showed  them. 

Rasinski  quickly  read  them.  "  It  is  as  you 
assert ;  this  is,  the  Count's  signature.  I  shall 
assist  you  to  continue  your  journey.  To-night 
you  must  stay  in  the  camp ;  to-morrow,  a  de- 
tachment of  sick  and  wounded  returns  to 
Wilna — you  may  join  them  ;  I  will  procure 
you  the  necessary  passports." 

Paul  thanked  him  in  words  of  gratitude, 
and  still  more,  with  happy  looks  ;  joy  re- 
turned into  Axinia's  bashful  features.  Ra- 
sinski now,  for  the  first  time,  seemed  to  ob- 
serve her.  In  a  friendly  manner,  he  stepped 
up  to  her,  and  asked  her  in  Russian :  "  And 
you  want  to  go  to  Germany  too,  although 
you  are  a  daughter  of  the  land  of  Rurik,  as 
your  dress  shows  V 

Blushing,  Axinia  cast  down  her  eyes.  "  It 
was  the  will  of  the  young  Countess  Feodo- 
rowna,"  she  replied. 

"  And  why  did  tlie  Countess  send  you  to 
Germany  ?"  he  continued,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  She  thought  we  would  be  happier  there." 

"  At  this  time  ?  That  is  rather  question- 
able ;  that  country  is  not  overstocked  with 
contentment  just  now.  Is  the  Countess  Feo- 
dorowna  a  daughter  to  Count  Dolgorow?" 

"  She  is,  noble  sir,"  replied  Axinia,  bowing 
her  head  affirmatively,  and  with -an  expression 
of  humility.  "  I  was  brought  up  with  her  as 
her  playmate  and  companion ;  I  have  to  thank 
the  countess  for  everything."  Then  her 
emotion  became  too  powerful  to  say  more. 

''  If  you  love  hex  so  much,  why  then  did 
you  leave  her,  or  why  did  she  send  you 
away  ]" 


Axinia  blushed. 

"  I  understand,"  continued  Rasinski,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  well,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  wife  to  fol- 
low her  husband.  You  have  done  right. 
Give  to  these  persons  a  place  down  there  by 
the  hill,  where  they  can  safely  remain  over- 
night," Rasinski  said,  beckoning  with  his 
head. 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  he  commenced,  when 
the  two  strangers  v*ere  gone,  "  to-morrow 
we  continue  our  march ;  I  have  not  told  you 
this  before.  Every  moment  I  expect  the  ar- 
rival of  Jaromir  with  despatches  from  Wi- 
tepsk ;  then  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  whither 
we  are  to  go ;  for  I  do  not  think  that  we  shall 
remain  with  the  bulk  of  the  army.  It  is  high 
time  to  come  to  action." 

"Certainly,"  exclaimed  Bernard,  "if  the 
enemy  only  will  make  a  stand.  Till  now  we 
have  fought  only  shadows.  Whenever  we 
saw  the  enemy  right  before  our  eyes,  and 
could  cry  out  to  him,  as  Achilles  did  to  Hec- 
tor, '  stand  and  fight !'  then  the  phantom  van- 
ished again  in  tlie  gloomy  night  I  ackn6w- 
ledge  that  this  kind  of  warfare,  has  wholly 
disgusted  me.  Surely,  even  the  greatest 
warrior  must  catch  the  enemy  before  he  can 
whip  him." 

"  That  is  the  nature  of  a  defensive  war, 
wlien  the  ground  by  its  extent  is  unfavor- 
able to  the  attacking  force  ;  even  tlie  old  Scy- 
thian inhabitants  of  this  country  conducted 
their  wars  witli  the  Persian  kings  in  this 
way,"  replied  Rasinski.  "  I  was  prepared  for 
it  from  the  beginning,  for  I  know  the  Russian 
and  his  country.  But  this  is  exactly  my  con- 
solation. We  have  not  yet  reached  the  spot 
where  the  heart  of  this  empire  beats ; — we ' 
have  been  fighting  almost  entirely  on  our 
own  ground  and  soil — on  the  territory  of  old 
Poland ; — for  Lithuania  also  obeyed  the  sway 
of  the  Jagellonians.  This  soil  is  not  sacred 
to  the  Russian.  Now  first  we  touch  his  fron- 
tiers— here  begins  his  country  and  his  church. 
Mark  me :  here  the  sons  of  Rurik  will  defend 
their  thresholds  and  their  altars ;  and  the 
nearer  we  approacli  the  seat  of  the  holy  Ivan 
— the  majestic  Moscow — ^the  stronger  the  po- 
pulation will  arm  itself  against  us.  Not  all 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Russian  empire  have  a 
fatherland.  The  outer  provinces  are  like 
suburbs  or  antechambers,  in  which  a  host  of 
homeless  slaves  are  lying.  These  are  rea- 
dily sacrificed ;  but  in  the  interior  of  the 
house  live  the  sons  of  the  family,  and  va- 
liantly will  tliey  defend  their  altar  and  sanc- 
tuary. Then,  it  is  battles,  and  I  hope  vic- 
tories will  not  fail  us." 

A  horseman  was  heard  approaching,  at  a 
rapid  pace.  It  was  Jaromir.  Quickly  he 
handed  his  despatches  to  Rasinski,  who  im- 
mediately began  reading  them  by  the  light  of 
the  fire. 


ISO 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


"  To-morrow,  at  four  o'clock,  we  break  up. 
To-night  then  let  us  enjoy  the  short  repose 
which  is  allowed  us ;  for  the  next  day  will 
perhaps  demand  the  exertion  of  all  our  ener- 
gies." 

With  these  words,  he  returned  to  his 
tent,  while  the  others  laid  themselves  down 
around  the  watchfires,  and  were  soon  fast 
asleep. 

When  the  day  dawned,  Rasinski  and  his 
regiment  were  already  on  the  march.  They 
passed  over  long  hills  by  the  edge  of  a  pine 
forest,  extending  far  into  the  country  to  their 
right,  while  the  landscape  on  the  left  lay  ex- 
tended in  hills  and  bushes.  Boleslaus,  Jaro- 
mir,  Louis,  and  Bernard  rode  at  Rasinski's 
side. 

"  The  Emperor  has  formed  a  daring  re- 
solution," commenced  Rasinski ;  "  you  see 
that  we  take  a  direction  which  leads  us  far  to 
the  left  of  the  enemy,  who  has  encamped  at 
Rudnia  and  Inkowo.  We  shall  cross  the 
Dnieper  there,  our  left  protected  by  the  river, 
advance  upon  Smolensko,  pass  the  Russian 
army,  and  throw  ourselves  between  it  and 
Moscow — a  truly  gigantic  manojuvre,  which 
if  successful  will  decide  the  whole  campaign 
at  once.  That  in  which,  through  the  fault  of 
the  King  of  Westphalia,  Davoust  did  not  suc- 
cced  agaiast  Bagration,  is  now  to  be  put  in 
operation  against  Jiim  and  Barclay  de  Tolly  to- 
gi'ther.  Our  orders  are  to  defeat  the  advanced 
cavalry  which  may  still  be  hovering  on  our 
right  wing,  and  to  keep  it  at  sucli  a  distance 
Ihat  t!ie  movements  of  the  main  army  will 
not  be  too  early  observed." 

The  sun  had  now  risen,  and  threw  its  rays 
over  the  extensive  landscape  which  could  be 
overlooked  from  the  height. 

"  Do  you  see  those  columns  advancing  ?" 
said  Rasinski,  pointing  to  the  left.  "  That 
l)lack  stream  before  us  is  quite  near ;  from  the 
cloud  of  dust  there  we  can  see  that  it  is  ca^ 
valry  marching ;  and  near  that  hill,  which  is  too 
far  off  for  us  to  distinguish  the  troops  them- 
selves, you  see  at  least  the  brilliant  reflec- 
tion of  their  arms.  Much  may  be  decided 
in  the  next  few  days." 

Louis,  with  a  strange  feeling,  overlooked 
the  plain  on  which  the  black  lines  of  troops 
were  marching. 

,"  Will  what  is  here  being  done  and  decided 
be  for  the  blessing  or  curse  of  the  world  ?" 
he  asked  earnestly  of  himself.  "What  if 
the  powerful  spirit  which  moves  these  masses 
should  here  find  the  end  of  his  exploits,  as  of 
old,  Alexander  did  in  India !  Should  he  fail  in 
this  vast  undertaking,  what  if  the  rude  and 
colossal  power  of  the  north  should  prove  its 
preponderance  and  might  to  all  Europe  1  Or 
if,  on  the  contrary,  the  current  of  victory 
should  flow  on  into  the  very  heart  of  old 
Russia — if  the  standard  of  France  should  be 


planted  on  the  seat  of  the  Czars,  and  be  un- 
folded to  the  breeze  from  the  proud  pinna- 
cles of  the  Kremlin? — ^would,  in  that  mo- 
ment, the  independence  of  Germany  be  se- 
cured? Would  not  all  then  be  obliged  to 
yield  to  France  and  French  arrogance? — 
Would  not  the  word  '  fatherland'  become  to 
us  a  vague  and  hollow  sound  ?" 

He  was  disturbed  in  these  meditations  by 
Bernard,  who  being  a  painter,  looked  upon 
every  exterior  object  from  the  same  point  of 
view  as  he  would  look  upon  a  picture. 
"  What  strange  peculiar  charms  these  dead 
landscapes  have  !"  he  said ;  "  only  see  what  a 
fine  contrast  those  black  crowns  of  the  fo- 
rest trees  form  with  the  sky :  this  sad  mono- 
tony really  has  something  touching ;  like  the 
desert,  it  makes  a  grand  impression  upon  the 
mind.  And  those  unbroken  woods  that  cross 
the  country  there  below,  the  naked  hills  be- 
tween them  with  their  shining  red  heatlier, 
and  the  colorless  sky,  with  the  long  gray 
stripes  of  cloud; — sometimes  I  would  love 
better  to  paint  this  than  even  Swiss  scen- 
ery." 

During  this  conversation  they  had  come  to 
a  cross-path  :  to  the  left,  the  hills  descended 
into  the  valley  towards  Ligna;to  the  ri^ht, 
they  entered  the  forest  towards  Babinawiczi 
and  Orsza.  Rasinski  cliose  this  latter  road ; 
but  seeing  that  he  was  no  longer  able  to 
overlook  the  adjoining  country,  he  was  ob- 
liged to  send  an  advanced  guard  out,  and 
scout  on  both  sides.  Jaromir  received  the  com- 
mand of  the  former,  Boleslaus  was  charged 
with  the  latter.  Louis  and  Bernard  remained 
near  Rasinski,  who  employed  them  as  his 
aids  to  send  orders  to  the  detached  troops. 
They  marched  until  evening  without  meeting 
an  enemy.  During  the  night  the  soldiers 
partly  rested  in  bivouac,  partly  on  the  skirt 
of  a  miserable  hamlet,  completely  abandoned 
by  its  inhabitants.  At  dawn  of  day  the  re- 
giment continued  its  march,  and  approached 
Rasasna,  where  the  army  was  to  pass  the 
Dnieper. 

The  Emperor  had  already  arrived,  with  the 
corps  of  Davoust.  The  bridges  of  Rasasna, 
which  had  quickly  been  repaired,  were  al- 
ready filled  with  troops,  winding  over  them 
in  long  black  lines.  Rasinski  joined  them, 
and  then  encamped  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  behind  Rasasna,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Emperor's  tent.  A  Lithuanian  Jew,  who 
from  love  of  money  had  become  Rasinski's 
spy,  undertook  for  a  liberal  reward  to  go  still 
some  miles  further,  to  inform  himself  whether 
the  approach  of  tlie  army  was  known  to  the 
enemy,  and  whether  they  had  made  prepara^ 
tion  to  oppose  them. 

Towards  three  in  the  morning,  and  in 
profound  darkness,  the  spy  reappeared  in  the 
bivouac.     Bernard  had  just  awakened  and 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


121 


stirred  up  the  fire,  when  the  strange  fignrfe  of 
the  Israelite,  stealing  noiselessly  along  (wa- 
riness and  caution  had  become  his  second  na- 
ture,) entered  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  th« 
flames.  Like  a  prowling  and  mischievous 
sorcerer,  he  suddenly  stood  before  Bernard, 
who  started  at  tliis  strange  and  unexpected 
apparition.  A  black  robe,  confined  at  the 
waist  by  a  leathern  girdle,  draped  his  meagre 
person;  a  red  and  pointed  beard  descended 
low  upon  his  breast ;  his  pale  wizened  coun- 
tenance peered  forth  from  out  a  mass  of  tan- 
gled hair ;  his  grey  eyes  had  a  cunning  and 
malicious  twinkle.  A  constrained  smile  dis- 
torted his  lips,  as  he  accosted  Bernard  in  Jew- 
ish dialect. 

'*  Young  gentleman !  tell  me  quick  where 
my  lord  colonel  sleeps.  I  am  in  haste  to 
speak  with  him,  young  gentleman !" 

"The  fellow  looks  like  the  devil  changed 
into  a  fox,"  muttered  Bernard  to  himself 
"  So  they  have  not  hanged  you,  eh,  Isaac  1" 

"  Father  Abraham !  what  is  that  for  a 
question,  young  gentleman  1  D'ye  think  old 
Isaac  would  have  lived  so  long,  had  he  not 
known  to  keep  his  neck  out  of  the  coil  of 
hemp  ?  But  take  me  to  my  lord  colonel :  it's 
in  great  haste !" 

"Come,  son  of  Abraham,"  said  Bernard, 
parodying  the  Jewish  mode  of  speaking ;  "  set 
thy  shoe-soles  upon  the  tracks  of  my  feet,  so 
shalt  thou  come  to  the  presence  of  him  whose 
gold  thou  covetest.  Forward !"  And  wind- 
ing his  way  through  the  groups  of  weary 
soldiers  wha  lay  sleeping  round  the  watch- 
fires,  he  guided  the  old  spy  to  the  spot  where 
Rasinski,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  reposed  upon 
a  little  straw.  The  colonel's  watchful  ear 
warned  him  of  the  approach  of  strange  foot- 
steps ;  he  was  roused  in  an  instant,  and  look- 
ed keenly  into  the  surrounding  darkness. 

"  Ha,  friend  Isaac !"  he  cried ;  "  well,  what 
news !    Are  they  of  weight  ?" 

The  Jew  nodded  mysteriously,  and  drew 
the  count  aside.  Bernard  would  have  returned 
to  his  fire,  but  Rasinski  signed  to  him  to  re- 
main. The  count  spoke  long  and  low  with 
his  Hebrew  emissary,  and  listened  with  the 
strongest  interest  as  it  seemed  to  the  report 
of  the  latter.  The  spy's  countenance  each 
moment  assumed  a  more  important  expres- 
sion, and  was  lighted  up  even  at  shorter  in- 
tervals by  his  false  and  repulsive  smile,  as  he 
saw  that  Rasinski  appeared  satisfied  with  the 
intelligence  he  brought. 

"  Accursed  Judas  I"  quoth  Bernard  to  him- 
self. "  I  could  not  put  faith  in  that  villanous 
physiognomy,  though  the  fox  snout  of  it 
were  to  guide  me  into  paradise.  And  yet 
Rasinski  is  a  judge  of  men ;  that  there  is  no 
denying." 

"  Isaac  had  made  his  report,  he  stood  sub- 
missively before  Rasinski,  and  awaited  his 


orders  with  the  deepest  humility.  The  col- 
onel produced  his  purse ;  the  Jew's  visage  was 
lighted  up  with  joy ;  lust  of  gold  gleamed  in 
his  eyes.  But  when  he  clutched  in  his  ex- 
tended palm  a  handful  of  gold  pieces,  he 
broke  out  into  fulsome  expressions  of  de- 
light and  gratitude.  •  & 

"  God  of  Abraham !"  he  cried,  endeavor- 
ing to  seize  and  kiss  Rasinski's  hand,  "  bless 
my  dear  benefactor,  who  saves  me  from  per- 
ishing in  these  days  of  war  and  misery !  Hun- 
ger would  rend  the  poor  Jew's  entrails,  till  he 
howled  like  a  starving  wolf  in  winter,  did  not 
you,  noble  sir,  deign  generously  to  relieve 
him." 

By  word  or  gesture  Rasinski  commanded 
silence.  The  Jew  turned  to  depart,  pulling 
out  at  the  same  time  a  leathern  bag  wherein 
to  stow  his  gold.  With  this  empty  bag  he 
unintentionally  drew  out  a  purse,  whose 
strings  had  got  entangled  with  those  of  the 
bag,  and  which  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 
Visibly  alarmed,  Isaac  stooped  to  pick  it  up, 
but  Bernard,  who  had  observed  his  counte- 
nance by  the  fire-side,  conceived  a  sudden  sus- 
picion, and  sprang  forward  with  a  like  inten- 
tion. The  grass  being  high,  and  the  light  not 
falling  on  that  spot,  both  men  felt  about  for 
a  few  moments  in  vain.  At  last  Bernard 
seized  the  prize. 

"  Give  it  here,  my  dear  young  g«ntle- 
mans,"  cried  Isaac  eagerly ;  "  it  is  my  small 
and  hard-earned  savings.  Now-a-days  noth- 
ing is  safe,  except  what  one  carries  with  one. 
Give  it  me,  I  entreat !" 

The  anxious  tone  and  hast}'  gestures  with 
which  he  spoke  these  words,  not  only 
strengthened  Bernard's  suspicions,  but  also 
attracted  the  attention  of  Rasinski. 

"  Humph !  heavy,"  said  Bernard  signifi- 
cantly; "very  heavy.  Nothing  less  than  gold 
there,  I  expect." 

Rasinski  approached. 

"  Heaven  bless  you !"  cried  Isaac,  "  a  little 
silver  and  copper,  nothing  more.  Perhaps  an 
old  ducat  or  two  amongst  it."  And  he  hastily 
extended  his  arm  to  seize  his  property. 

Bernard  drew  back  his  hand,  held  the  purse 
to  the  fire-light,  and  loudly  "exclaimed: 

"  Silver  ?  copper  ?  What  I  see  through 
the  meshes  is  gold,  and  that  of  the  brightest !" 

"  Show  it  here !"  said  Rasinski,  stepping 
quickly  forward.  Bernard,  laughing,  handed 
him  the  purse ;  the  Jew  dared  not  object,  but 
he  trembled  visibly,  and  expostulated  in  a 
humble  and  cringing  tone.  "Most  generous 
sir !"  he  said ;  "  it  is  the  trifle  I  have  rescued 
from  the  exactions  and  calamities  of  war.  You 
will  not  rob  a  helpless  old  man  of  his  little 
all." 

"  Rob  I"  repeated  Rasinski,  disdainfully. 
"  Am  I  marauder  1  But  you  will  not  make  mo 
believe,"  he  continued,  in  an  accent  of  me- 


122 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


nace,  "that  this  gold  has  been  long  in  your 
possession.  Think  you  I  do  not  know  what 
a  Jew  of  your  sort  can  save  in  Lithuania  ?  A 
likely  tale  indeed  that  whilst  passing  as  a  spy 
from  one  camp  to  the  other,  you  carry  this 
treasure  on  your  person!  Ten  foot  under 
ground  in  the  Ijiickest  forest,  you  still  would 
not  think  it  safe.  And  why  deny  it  to  be 
gold  ?  Where  are  the  silver  and  copper 
amongst  these  fine  new  ducats  ?  Confess, 
Jew — whence  have  you  this  gold?" 

Isaac  trembled  in  every  limb. 

"What  would  you  of  me,  most  gracious 
lord  count?"  stammered  he.  "How  should 
old  Isaac  possess  other  gold  than  what  he  has 
saved  during  his  sixty  years  of  life  ?  Where 
should  he  bury  it  ?  Where  has  he  land  to  dig 
and  delve  at  his  pleasure  ?  And  if  I  wished 
to  conceal  that  I  have  saved  a  few  ducats,  sure 
it  is  no  crime  in  times  like  these  ?" 

"  IVIiserable  subterfuges !"  replied  Rasinski. 
"  Here,  take  your  gold — I  desire  it  not.  But 
mark  my  words !  molten  I  will  have  it  poured 
down  thy  lying  throat,  if  thou  hast  deceived 
me  in  this  matter !  These  ducats  look  like 
the  guerdon  of  weightier  information  than  you 
have  brought  me.  If  you  have  betrayed 
aught  to  the  enemy,  if  our  present  plan  mis- 
carries, tremble,  for  your  treachery  shall  meet 
a  fearful  reward !" 

The  Jew  stood  with  totteriner  knees  and 
pale  as  death ;  suddenly  he  prostrated  himself 
at  Rasinski's  feet,  his  face  distorted  by  an 
agony  of  terror. 

"  Pardon !  mercy !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Justice !"  sternly  replied  Rasinski.  "  Let 
his  person  be  searched  for  papers." 

An  officer  and  two  soldiers  seized  the 
Jew,  dragged  him  to  the  next  fire,  and  bade 
him  strip  from  head  to  foot.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments it  was  done.  Gown  and  hose,  shoes 
and  stockings,  were  examined  without  any- 
thing being  found.  Even  a  cut  from  the  shoe- 
soles  brought  nothing  to  light.  Meanwhile 
Isaac  stood  shivering  in  his  shirt,  following 
with  anxious  glances  each  movement  of  the 
soldiers.  As  each  portion  of  his  dress  passed 
muster  and  was  thrown  aside,  his  counte- 
nance cleared  and  brightened. 

"As  sure  as  Jehovah  dwells  above  us!" 
.  he  exclaimed,    "  I  am  an  innocent  old  man. 
Give  me  back  my  money  and  my  clothes,  and 
let  me  home  to  my  hut !" 

"  There,  put  on  your  rags !"  cried  a  corpo- 
ral, throwing  him  his  breeches.  Isaac  caught 
them,  but  at  the  same  moment  the  soldier 
threw  him  his  gown  in  the  same  unceremoni- 
ous way.  It  fell  over  the  Jew's  face,  envel- 
oping him  in  its  folds.  Seeing  this,  the 
mischievous  corporal  seized  one  end  of  the 
loose  garment,  and  pulled  it  backwards  and 
forwards  over  the  head  of  Isaac,  who  stag- 
gered to  and  fro,  bhnded  and  confused,  but 


still  struggling  violently  and  crying  out  for 
mercy.  Rasinski  was  on  the  point  of  check- 
ing this  horse-play,  when  the  Jew  stumbled 
f  nd  fell,  thus  disentangling  himself  from  the 
gown,  which  remained  in  his  tormentor's 
hands.  But  to  the  utter  dismay  of  the  Israel- 
ite, and  simultaneous  with  his  robe,  a  wig 
was  dragged  from  his  head,  leaving  him  com- 
pletely bald.  At  first  nobody  attached  im- 
portance to  the  circumstance,  and  the  soldiers 
laughed  at  this  climax  of  the  Jew's  misfor- 
tunes, when  Bernard's  quick  eye  detected 
upon  the  ground  a  scrap  of  paper,  which  had 
been  concealed  between  scalp  and  wig.  He 
clutched  at  it;  but  was  forestalled  by  Isaac, 
who,  in  all  haste,  caught  it  up  and  threw  it 
into  the  blazing  watch-fire,  where  it  instantly 
disappeared  in  a  flake  of  tinder.  This  suspi- 
cious incident  gave  rise  to  a  new  investigar 
tion.  The  Jew  denied  everything :  he  swore 
by  the  God  of  his  fathers  he  knew  of  no  let- 
ter, and  had  thrown  nothing  into  the  fire,  but 
had  merely  picked  up  his  handkerchief.  Upon 
examining  his  head,  however,  it  appeared  that 
the  hair  had  been  recently  shaved  off,  and  that 
Isajic  had  no  real  occasion  for  a  wig.  Here 
again  the  wary  Jew  was  ready  with  his  justi- 
fication. 

"God  of  mercy!"  he  cried,  what  I  have 
done  for  your  service  proves  my  perdition. 
When,  driven  by  need  and  hunger,  I  under- 
took your  dangerous  commission,  I  bethought 
me  how  I  could  best  be  useful  to  you.  Could 
I  tell  what  duties  you  would  require  of  me  1 
Had  I  not  even  heard  that  they  consisted  in 
carrying  letters  and  papers,  skilfully  conceal- 
ed? Therefore  did  I  break  the  law  by  laying 
a  razor  on  my  head !  And  now  I  am  punished 
for  my  sin.  But  is  it  for  you  Christians  to 
condemn  me,  because  I  have  transgressed  to 
5o  your  pleasure  ?" 

Spurred  by  the  fear  of  death,  Isaac  con- 
tinued in  this  strain  with  irrepressible  volu- 
bility; and  there  was  no  denying  that  his 
excuses  and  reasons  were  plausible  enough. 
Nevertheless,  Rasinski  found  strong  grounds  • 
for  suspicion.  He  ordered  the  Jew  to  be  kept 
in  custody,  and  that,  when  the  regiment  went 
out,  he  should  follow  on  a  spare  horse. 

"  If  I  see  by  the  enemy's  movement,"  said 
he  to  the  Jew  as  he  was  led  away,  "  that- he 
has  notice  of  our  project,  you  are  ripe  for  the 
gallows,  and  shall  not  escape  it.  If  there  is 
no  evidence  of  your  treason,  you  shall  be  free 
to  get  yourself  hung  elsewhere ;  for  beyond 
Liady  you  will  be  useless,  seeing  that  the 
Russians  do  not  tolerate  your  blood-sucking 
race  in  their  land ;  the  only  good  trait  I  am 
acquainted  with  in  their  character.  Away 
with  you — let  him  be  well  guarded."     • 

Thus,  screaming,  the  Jew  was  dragged    ^ 
away  under  the  curses  and  scoffs  of  the  rude 
soldiers,  and  secured  under  guard ;  for  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RCSSIA. 


trade  of  a  spy,  though  unhappily  necessary 
in  war,  is  too  mean  and  despicable  for  even 
those  whom  he  serves  to  feel  compunction 
at  punishment  instead  of  reward. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

At  day-break  the  whole  French  army 
was  again  in  motion.  Rasinski  had  received 
orders  to  join  the  van-guard,  under  the  King 
of  Naples.  On  a  by-road,  pointed  out  by 
Isaac,  he  gained  so  much  ground  as  to  be 
able  to  pass  some  very  long  lines  of  infan- 
try, commanded  by  Marshal  Davoust,  and 
thus  to  reach  his  point  of  destination  without 
any  farther  obstacle.  Here  he  found  Prince 
Murat,  who,  surrounded  by  his  staff,  with  a 
calm  eye  reconnoitred  the  ground  before 
them.  Rasinski  rode  up  to  him  to  report 
such  information  as  he  had  received  from 
Isaac,  and  at  the  same  time  expressing  his 
apprehension  that  the  spy  might  have  made 
use  of  a  double  mask,  and  had,  perhaps,  been 
even  more  useful  to  the  enemy  than  to  the 
army  of  the  Emperor. 

"  If  only  what  the  Jew  has  said  be  true," 
said  the  king,  "  vigorous  measures  may  yet 
save  all.  We  must  intercept  the  corps  of 
General  Newerovvskoi — destroy  it,  and  thus 
reach  Smolensko  before  him.  From  its  pre- 
sent encampment  the  main  army  of  the  enemy 
cannot  possibly  reach  the  fortress  before  be- 
ing overtaken  by  us.  The  present  is  a  mo- 
ment in  which  the  campaign  of  the  whole 
year  may  be  decided.  Rapid  movement  is 
our  first  duty  now  ;  we  will  not  neglect  it." 

These  words  were  the  signal  for  breaking 
up.  The  route  of  the  army  ran  along  the 
Dnieper,  but  so  that  a  considerable  space 
was  still  left  between  the  stream  and  the 
high-road.  Rasinski  and  his  regiment  march- 
ed nearest  the  river.  He  sent  forward  a 
patrol  under  the  command  of  Jaromir ;  an- 
other on  his  right,  commanded  by  a  younger 
officer.  To  the  lefl  he  was  sufficiently  pro- 
tected by  the  river. 

"  A  disagreeable  business,''  said  Rasinski 
to  Louis,  as  they  rode  along,  "  thus  to  follow 
the  flying  enemy  and  be  unable  to  teach  him. 
The  Cossacks  must  have  been  here  a  short 
time  before  uh — for  hrjre  are  fresh  tracks  of 
smajl,  unshod  horse-hoofs.  Probably  we 
have  to  thank  them  for  the  loss  of  all  the 
bridges,  and  that  we  mtist  ride  through  all 
these  small  lakes,  created  by  the  rain.  But 
what  is  that  yonder  ?  Jaromir  sends  us  a 
message !" 

A  lancer  was  seen  approaching.  Rasin- 
ski galloped  towards  him,  to  receive  the  in- 


formation the  sooner.  Jaromir  reported  that 
at  the  moment  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
he  had  suddenly  caught  sight  of  two  Cos- 
sacks, who  as  quickly  had  disappeared  among 
the  trees.  They  probably  belonged  to  a 
larger  detachment. 

"  Should  we  finally  have  got  them  ?"  ex- 
claimed Rasinski,  his  eyes  beaming  with  joy, 
giving  orders,  at  the  same  time,  to  advance 
at  a  trot.  The  regiment  rode  up  the  hill, 
from  which  a  wide  level  ground  could  be 
overlooked,  chequered  here  and  there  by 
small  clumps  of  underwood.  The  brush- 
wood seemed  only  about  a  hundred  steps  in 
front,  and  nearly  the  same  deep — yet  it  in- 
terrupted the  view.  The  patrals  were  re- 
called, and  in  closed  files  the  whole  corps 
quickly  advanced.  When  near  to  the  thicket, 
Rasinski  divided  his  corps,  and  ordered  one 
squadron  to  ride  to  the  left — the  other  to  the 
right,  around  the  thicket,  while  he  ^jfh  the 
centre  squadrons  continued  straight  forward. 
Fresh  horse-manure,  found  on  the  way,  and 
many  tracks  of  unshod  horses,  confirmed  the 
previous  supposition  of  a  large  troop  of  Cos- 
sacks having  passed  over  the  ground  only  a 
few  moments  before.  The  wood  now  opened, 
and  Uirough  the  trees  one  could  look  into  the 
open  field. 

"  There  they  are  !"  cried  Rasinski,  point- 
ing with  his  finger  to  the  numerous  pikes 
seen  in  the  cornfield.  "  They  shall  escape 
us  no  longer  !  sound  the  attack  !" 

The  trumpet  sounded.  Like  a  whirlwind 
the  masses  issued  from  the  thicket. 

"  By  files,  right  and  left  wings  forward  !" 
Rasinski  shouted,  as  they  reached  the  open 
space,  and  the  deep  columns  changed  into 
an  extended  front.  The  two  squadrons  that 
had  rode  round  the  little  wood  now  also 
came  up  and  joined  them  at  full  speed. 

The  noise  and  clatter  created  by  a  rapidly 
advancing  regiment  of  horse,  must  suddenly 
have  betrayed  them  to  the  Cossacks,  who 
were  quietly  riding  along,  evidently  not 
aware  that  the  enemy  was  so  near.  A 
skirmish  seemed  not  to  be  their  intention. 
They  put  their  horses  in  motion,  and  in  full 
career  rode  forward  until  they  disappeared 
behind  the  bushes  which  were  thickly  scat- 
tered over  the  field. 

When  the  cloud  of  dust  which  they  raised 
had  subsided,  a  small  town  was  seen  at  a 
distance  of  not  more  than  three  or  four  miles. 

"  That  must  be  Krasnoi,"  said  Rasinski. 
"  Where  is  the  Jew,  Isaac  ? — he  must  tell  us." 

Is^ac,  placed  on  a  baggage-horse,  with  his 
hands  tied  behind  him,  liad  hitherto  followed 
the.  regiment  among  the  train  and  servants. 
He  was  looked  for  there,  but  in  vain.  He 
had  made  his  escape  during  the  bustle  of  the 
pursuit. 

"  Then  the  Cossacks  still  have  done  us 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


soii^e  damage,"  said  RasinskI,  angrily.  "  I 
would  gladly  have  seen  that  Jew  brought  to 
the  haltet." 

Meanwhile  a  slight  skirmish  had  begun 
between  a  corps  of  iiifantry  and  some  of 
General  Newerowskoi's  light-horse,  which, 
after  a  gallant  defence,  were  repulsed.  Ra- 
sinski's  regiment  entered  the  camp  with  the 
sinking  sun.  The  men  had  just  settled 
themselves  comfortably  around  a  large  fire, 
when  the  unexpected  roar  of  artillery  was 
beard.  All  then  was  commotion,  but  they 
soon  learned  it  to  be  only  a  salute  of  rejoic- 
ing. 

This  feu  de  joie  was  fired  in  honor  of  the 
late  victorious  engagement  with  the  Rus- 
sians, and  also  of  the  £mperor's  birth-day. 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Rasinski ;  "I  had 
almost  forgotten  that  to-day  is  the  fifteenth 
of  Auansi.  The  salute  is  worth  something, 
for  it  JKs  f  red  with  Russian  powder,  obtain- 
ed among  this  day's  booty.  Do  not  let  us 
forget  tMs  day  is  the  fifteenth  of  August, 
but  in  a  merry  circle  drink  the  Emperor's 
health." 

The  invitation  was  gladly  accepted.  A 
large  fire  was  soon  blazing.  The  officers  of 
the  regiment,  with  Louis  and  Bernard,  who 
were  always  regarded  by  Rasinski  as  be- 
longing to  himself,  arranged  themselves 
around  it. 

"  Our  drinking  cups  are  certainly  not  the 
most  elegant,"  said  Rasinski,  after  filling 
every  one's  porringer,  cup,  glass,  or  what- 
ever he  had  in  his  hand.  "  The  table  is  not 
too  sumptuously  supplied,  but  the  guests,  I 
think,  are  as  noble  as  ever  collected  in  the 
proudest  saloon.     So  welcome,  comrades  !" 

Suddenly  his  features  assumed  a  serious 
cast.  Majestically  he  stepped  into  the  midst 
of  his  recumbent  brothers-in-arms,  and  rest- 
ing his  left  hand  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword, 
while  raising  the  filled  cup  in  his  right,  he 
commenced,  in  a  solemn  voice  : 

"  Friends  !  After  long  years,  we  this  diy, 
led  by  the  great  Emperor  of  the  French,  first 
step  upon  the  soil  of  old  Russia,  arms  in 
hand !  We  stand  on  the  soil  on  which  our 
fathers  fought  many  a  glorious  battle  with 
their  detested  neighbors.  Recollect,  brothers, 
that  there  was  a  time  when  the  banners  of 
Poland  waved  from  the  Kremlin  of  Moscow, 
when  our  wocivades  gave  to  the  Russians 
their  Czar.  The  Czar,  Boris  Godunow,  who 
built  the  old  town  of  Smolensko,  which,  behind 
those  hills  is  covered  with  the  darkness  of 
night ;  and  erected  those  walls  and  -towers 
which,  perhaps,  to-morrow  we  will  take  by 
storm — that  same  Czar,  Boris  Godunow,  up- 
held his  throne  by  the  valor  of  our  forefathers. 
Those  were  Poland's  most  palmy  days  !  and 
they  will  return  !  Like  the  phoenix  from  his 
ashes,  the  white  eagle  will  ascend  from  the 


smoking  ruins,  under  which  our  fathers  lie 
buried.  The  cinders  are  glowing  deep  be^ 
neath  the  ashes.  In  the  breast  of  every  son 
of  Poland  lives  the  mighty  fire  of  ancient 
heroism — of  ancient  love  of  the  fatherland  ! 
The  day  of  retribution,  of  vengeance,  of 
justice,  is  at  hand.     History  has  created  the 

freat  man  who  will  carry  out  our  destiny, 
bllowing  his  banners,  we  rush  to  victory 
over  our  enemies !  Rise,  then,  drain  this 
cup  to  his  success.  Vite  VEmpireur  I  Vive 
la  Pologne  !   Vive  la  Liberty .'" 

As  wind  fans  and  spreads  the  crackling 
fiames,  so  the  inspiring  words  of  Rasinski 
entered  the  hearts  of  his  companions-in- 
arms— hearts  throbbing  with  patriotic  devo- 
tion and  thirsting  for  valorous  deeds.  Like 
statues  they  had  stood,  listening  to  every 
word  from  his  lips,  the  flashing  eye  only  be- 
traying life  in  their  breasts.  Now  they 
sprang  up.  Amidst  tears  and  exclamations 
they  repeated  the  cry — "  Vive  VEmpereur! 
la  Pologne  !  la  Liberie .'"  and  then  drained 
their  cups  to  the  bottom.  A  thousand  echoes 
repeated  the  cry — for  other  approaching 
troops  had  so  greatly  enlarged  the  festive 
circle,  that  it  could  no  longer  be  measured 
by  the  eye.  When  Rasinski  had  emptied  hie 
cup,  he  threw  it  high  in  the  air,  opened  his 
arms,  and  pressed  his  next  comrade  to  his 
breast.  Friends  surrounded  him,  threw 
themselves  at  his  feet,  took  hold  of  his  hands 
and  covered  them  with  tears.  A  delirious 
ecstasy  pervaded  the  breast  of  every  man, 
each  embraced  his  fellow.  Deep  grief  and 
nameless  raptures  struggled  in  every  soul ; 
it  was  as  if  the  lightning-stroke  had  touched 
every  heart.  Old  men  became  boys  again, 
and  the  rosy  cheek  of  Jaromir,  as  well  as 
the  grey  beard  of  old  Petrowski,  were  moist- 
ened with  tears. 

It  was  long  before  these  perturbed  feel- 
ings, so  violently  aroused,  were  allayed. 
Solemn  silence  succeeded.  They  remained 
composedly  lying  around  the  fire,  abandon- 
ing themselves  to  the  delightful  feelings  of  a 
cordial  communion.  Gradually  the  flames 
of  the  camp-fires  waned.  After  the  day's 
hard  exertion,  tired  nature  sank  into  redou- 
bled exhaustion.  Sleep  fell  upon  all  around. 
Jaromir  rested  his  head  on  Bernard's  shoulder, 
who  readily  supported  him  until  he  also  sank 
down  with  him  upon  the  turf.  Louis  still 
remained  awake  for  a  considerable  time.  All 
was  silent  around  him.  The  brands  and 
embers  fell  together  ;  the  flame  died  gradu- 
ally away  ;  the  vault  of  heaven  threw  a  dark 
mantle  of  clouds  over  the  camp.  Through 
the  wreathing  smoke,  reddened  by  the  reflec- 
tion of  th«  fire  as  it  ascended,  the  glittering 
stars  of  night  were  seen.  A  sombre,  grand, 
and  silent  picture. 

And  dark  it  became  in  lionis'  soul.    His 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


13$ 


hopelessness,  mourning  fatherland — the  be- 
loved ones  far  away — the  dear  picture  of  an 
unknown  being,  who  bad  vanished,  perhaps 
forever,  but  by  whom  his  heart  was  still  en- 
tirely monopolized — these  were  the  painful 
images  portrayed  on  the  tablets  of  his 
memory. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"  Thers  are  the  towers  of  Smolensko !" 
cried  Hasinski,  when,  at  the  head  of  his  re- 
giment, he  had  reached  the  hill  from  which, 
at  a  league's  distance,  the  old  fortress  is 
seen.  "  We  shall  now  march  down  this 
hill,  hidden  by  the  bushes  ;  thus  we  may  gain 
unobserved  the  side  of  the  city  till  within  the 
range  of  the  guns.  1  fear,"  he  added,  in  a 
tone  of  concern,  "  that  we  shall  have  a  hard 
struggle  here.  Do  you  see  yonder  clouds 
of  dust  on  the  other  side  of  th6  Dnieper  ? 
That  cannot  be  from  our  troops !  I  wish 
that  Jew  w^as  in  the  lowest  pit  of  hell ;  for 
there  is  hardly  a  doubt  that  he  either  guess- 
ed or  hedrd  something  of  the  Emperor's  in- 
tention, and  has  informed  Barclay  de  Tolly. 
I'll  wager  my  head  that  those  are  the  columns 
of  the  main  army  of  the  Russians  approach- 
ing." 

"  Well,  then,  we  shall  have  the  long-wish- 
ed-for  battle  !"  replied  Bernard,  with  an  in- 
quiring look,  to  inform  himself  more  fully 
respecting  Rasinski's  fears. 

"  Perhaps,  but  not  surely  yet.  At  all 
events,  under  more  unfavorable  circumstan- 
ces than  if  we  had  reached  Smolensko  before 
this,  occupied  it,  and  thus  cut  off  the  enemy 
from  the  road  to  Moscow.  In  that  case,  he 
would  have  been  obliged  to  take  the  fortress 
from  us  ;  as  it  is,  we  will  have  to  sacrifice 
thousands  before  it.  If  we  had  only  suc- 
ceeded in  cutting  off  Newerowskoi,  we 
would  have  gained  at  least  one  great  advan- 
tage." 

Impatiently  Rasinski  rode  alone  up  an  ad- 
jacent hill,  from  which  he  could  have  an 
uninterrupted  view.  Meanwhile,  the  regi- 
ment continued  on  the  road  pointed  out, 
which,  by  circuitous  windings,  brought  them 
nearer  to  the  town. 

"  The  country  is  not  entirely  without 
beauty,"  said  Louis  to  Bernard,  as  an  open- 
ing in  the  forest  afforded  them  a  view  into 
the  valley  of  the  Dnieper.  "  Do  you  see 
yonder  castle,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
upon  the  hill  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Bernard  ;  "  a  stately 
edifice.  It  seems  to  be  of  a  strange,  ancient 
style  of  building,  as  it  looks  from  here.  Per- 
haps  we  will  soon  pass  a  night  there — for 


probably  that,  and  the  large  village  lying 
there  below,  are  both  as  deserted  as  all  the 
places  we  have  passed  through." 

"  It  certainly  is  a  wretched  wilderness 
through  which  we  wander,"  replied  Louis. 
"  But  that  castle  makes  a  strange  impression 
on  me.  Here  I  feel  for  the  first  time,  that 
the  distance,  the  singularity,  exercise  a  pow- 
erful influence.  The  style,  the  situation,  all 
attracts  me  wonderfully  and  strangely." 

"  In  me,  too,  some  sparks  of  a  wonderful, 
romantic  feeling,  begin  to  kindle,"  observed 
Bernard.  "  How  would  it  be,  if  a  charming 
princess  should  live  there,  and  upon  storm- 
ing the  castle  we  should  be  the  means  of 
rescuing  this  fairy  from  the  smoking  ruins  ? 
To  me  it  seems  as  if  J  already  saw  the  red 
flames  playing  around  the  curious  battle- 
ments !" 

"  Do  not  joke  so  terribly,"  said  Louis. 
"  Your  prophecy  might,  at  least,  be  easily 
fulfilled,  in  so  far,  that  such  a  terrible  misfor- 
tune might  break  in  upon  the  ill-fated  in- 
habitants.". 

"  And  possibly  they  themselves  apply  the 
torch  to  their  dwellings,  for  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  castle  is  not  far  from  the  highway, 
which  runs  along  the  other  side  of  the  Dnie- 
per, and  hitherto  we  have  found  on  our  road 
but  few  villages  and  castles  which  were  not 
laid  waste.  '  It  appears  the  Russians  had 
rather  leave  us  a  desolate  province  than  an 
undestroyed  town.  But  there  comes  our 
Colonel  back  at  full  speed." 

Rasinski  came,  indeed,  at  so  rapid  a  pace 
that  the  horse  foamed,  and  the  dust  whirled 
up  high  around  him.  While  yet  at  a  dis- 
tance, he  hiade  a  sign  with  his  sword.  His 
next  officer.  Major  Negolinski,  understood 
the  signal,  and  ordered  the  regiment  to  ad- 
vance at  a  gallop.  They  had  to  ride  down 
into  a  valley  and  then  up  the  opposite  hill. 
In  a  few  moments  the  summit  was  reached, 
and  now  Smolensko  lay  right  before  them. 
From  the  same  sjjot  the  view  opened  far  into 
the  landscape,  and  the  different  corps  of  the 
Grand  Army  were  discovered  approaching 
the  town,  within  cannon-shot  distance  on 
many  points.  But  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  numberless  Russian  columns  were  also 
seen  marching  at  their  utmost  speed,  to  oc- 
cupy Smolensko  before  them. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !"  cried  Rasinski. — 
"  Down  into  the  valley,  along  the  river  ;  per- 
haps we  may  succeed  in  surprising  the  ene- 
my." 

He  again  advanced  far  in  front,  as  if  vdsh- 
ing  to  anticipate  the  moment  of  meeting  the 
enemy. 

Upon  reaching  the  river,  Smolensko  was 
seen  lying  upon  its  two  steep  hills  on  either 
side  of  the  Dnieper,  close  in  front  of  the 
attacking  soldiers,  almost  hanging  over  them. 
The    roaring  of  cannon  and  explosion  of 


198 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


small  arms  commenced.  Dust  and  smoke 
covered  the  valley  and  the  stream.  The 
battlements  of  the  town-wall  and  its  high 
towers  soon  alone  rose  above  the  salphurous 
canopy.  The  riders  followed  their  leader, 
without  knowing  whether  they  had  friends 
or  enemies  before  them.  Suddenly  Rasinski 
came  back. 

"  Halt !"  he  shouted  in  a  voice  of  com- 
mand. The  regiment  stood  as  if  rooted  to 
the  ground,  "  First  squadron,  left  wheel ! 
Regiment,  march  !" 

Slowly  Rasinski  led  his  men  back  again 
through  the  valley,  and  over  the  rocky  plain 
towards  the  height,  covered  with  trees, 
which  was  out  of  the  reach  of  the  fortress. 
"  It  was  too  late,"  he  observed  to  his  aids. 
"  The  King  of  Naples  wanted  to  attack  the 
town  from  this  side  with  the  cavalry,  Mar- 
shal Ney  on  the  other  with  the  infantry,  and 
thus  try  to  shake  it  by  surprise.  But  the 
Russians  are  too  well  fortified  and  have  too 
many  guns.  Besides,  the  main  army  must 
be  here  in  half  an  hour,  and  it  would  be 
madness  to  begin  the  struggle  just  now. — 
Still  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  will  try  to- 
morrow to  dispute  the  possession  of  the  for- 
tress by  a  battle.  For  here,  indeed,  it  is  the 
question  of  defending  the  gates  of  their 
country." 

The  regiment  entered  into  bivouac. 
Towards  evening  an  aid  of  the  general 
staff  came  into  the  camp  and  inquired  for 
Rasinski.  He  was  ordered  to  repair  to  the 
Emperor,  where  not  only  all  the  Marshals, 
but  also  all  officers  who  knew  the  country 
and  the  language  were  assembled.  To  dis- 
patch quickly  his  orders,  Rasinski  desired 
Bernard  and  Louis  to  accompany  him.  They 
found  some  trouble  in  reaching  the  Empe- 
ror's tent,  as,  by  his  order,  ail  the  troops 
which  had  approached  the  town  had  to  place 
their  bivouacs  further  back. 

"  What  does  this  manoeuvre  mean  ?"  ask- 
ed Rasinski,  of  the  aid  who  returned  with 
him. 

"  The  Emperor  wishes  to  leave  the  battle- 
field, open  to  the  enemy.  He  hopes  that  to- 
morrow the  Russian  columns  will  finally 
make  a  stand  and  accept  the  battle." 

"  And  our  position  ?"  continued  Rasinski. 
"  There,  on  that  amphitheatre  of  hills, 
which,  in  a  semicircle,  environ  the  town.  It 
is  true,  there  are  only  precipices  and  narrow 
passes  which  are  left  to  us,  dangerous  enough 
in  retreat." 

*'  The  Emperor  has  erased  the  word  *  re- 
treat' from  his  dictionary,"  replied  Rasinski. 
"  In  any  other  commander  the  fault  would 
be  great.  He  is  sure  of  his  victory.  He 
has  wanted  nothing  but  an  enemy  to  achieve 
it.  Would  to  heaven  the  enemy  may  now 
give  him  the  chance  !" 


"  Would  to  heaven  the  enemy  may  now 
give  him  the  chance  !" 

"  How  !  I  hardly  believe  it  Why  should 
he  offer  battle  in  front  of  the  fortress,  when 
he  can  do  it  in  its  rear  ?" 

"  Bagration,  it  is  said,  is  very  eatrer  for  a 
battle." 

•*  But  Barclay  is  so  much  the  less  so." 

"  He  is  not  liked  ;  the  Russians  hate  him ; 
the  Emperor  is  his  only  support.  Attacked 
on  his  own  soil,  it  must  deeply  wound  the 
Russian's  honor  to  be  aompelled  to  retreat 
without  offering  opposition.  Barclay  will  be 
obliged  to  fight,  or  the  army  will  no  longer 
obey  him.  Notwithstanding  his  unlimited 
power,  the  commander  still  in  some  respects 
stands  controlled  by  his  army ;  and  it  is  the 
hardest  thing  inthe  world  to  restrict  the  pug- 
nacious soldiers  from  giving  battle ;  it  is  at 
the  same  time  a  most  dangerous  undertaking, 
for  just  at  the  decisive  moment  he  will  fall 
back,  if  his  ardor  has  been  previously  curbed. 
A  commander  must  not  only  be  able  to  un- 
derstand the  topography  of  his  ground,  he 
must  also  have  an  insight  in  the  disposition 
of  his  men ;  if  he  makes  a  mistake  there,  he 
will  not  acomplish  much  with  all  his  tactics." 

"  Do  you  expect  any  good  result  from  the 
battle  ?"  asked  the  officer  after  a  short  pause. 

"The  most  complete  victory,  without  a 
doubt,  but  it  will  cost  "blood." 

"  A  great  deal,  no  doubt.  We  have  already 
suffered  losses  in  the  attack  upon  the  fortress 
to-day.  Of  the  battalion  with  which  Mar- 
shal Ney  attacked,  two-thirds  have  fallen. 
They  were  placed  in  the  cross-fire  of  the 
Russian  batteries  :  one  single  ball  had  such 
terrible  effect  that  it  struck  down  twenty-two 
men.  We  could  plainly  see  it  from  the  height 
where  we  stood." 

"  To  fall,  is  the  soldier's  solemn  destiny," 
replied  Rasinski,  "But  listen!— firing  of  small 
arms?" 

"  The  Emperor  has  ordered  the  first  divi- 
sion to  annoy  the  enemy,  and  thus,  perhaps, 
entice  him  to  cross  the  river." 

During  this  conversation,  passing  between 
watch-fires  and  encamped  troops,  and  behind 
marching  columns,  they  had  finally  arrived  at 
the  encampment  of  the  Guards,  where  the 
Emperor's  tent  was  pitched  on  a  woody  emi- 
nence. He  was  seen  just  then  riding  away 
with  a  small  suite,  probably  to  reconnoitre 
the  country.  In  full  gallop  Rasinski  rode 
after  him,  Louis  and  Bernard  following  at 
some  distance.  For  about  half  an  hour  the 
Emperor  rode  from  one  hill  to  another.  Of 
what  was  said,  Louis  and  Bernard  could  hear 
nothing,  as  with  several  other  orderlies  and 
younger  officers,  they  were  at  least  thirty  or 
forty  paces  behind  the  Marshals.  Now  the 
Emperor  stopped  and  spoke  to  Marshal  Ney 
and  the  King  of  Naples;  he  then  made  a  sign 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


197 


for  Rasinski  to  approach,  whom  he  seemed 
first  to  give  a  circumstantial  order,  and  then 
converse  with  in  lively  gesticulation.  Rasin- 
skj  immediately  turned  about,  beckoned  Louis 
to  accompany  him,  and  ordered  Bernard  to 
follow  the  Emperor  and  his  suite,  and  then  to 
wait  before  the  Imperial  tent,  until  he  should 
receive  a  written  or  verbal  order  for  him. 

The  Emperor  returned  to  his  tent  about 
nightfall.  He  was  followed  by  Marshals  Ber- 
thier,  Ney,  Murat,  Davoust  and  the  Viceroy 
of  Italy.  Two  men  of  the  Old  Guard  were 
posted  at  the  entrance  of  the  tent ;  Bernard 
and  the  orderly  officers  kept  close  to  receive 
orders.  In  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  those  three  were  dispatched.  Bernard 
remained  alone,  and  must  with  patience  await 
what  would  come.  All  was  silent  once 
more;  the  exhausted  troops  lay  in  their 
cloaks  and  slept.  Every  little  noise  could  be 
heard  quite  distinctly.  Thus  Bernard  could 
distinguish  an  animated  conversation  going 
on  within  the  tent.  Only  a  word  here  and 
there  was  understood,  most  frequently  the 
names  "  Smolensko"  and  "  Moscow."  He 
would  have  liked  to  ride  -a  few  steps  nearer, 
but  the  two  bearded  grenadiers,  with  their 
high  bearskin  feaps,  who,  with  measured  steps 
and  a  noble,  martial  air,  perambulated  up  and 
down  before  the  tent,  held  him  by  their  dark 
and  bushy  faces  at  a  respectful  distance. 

"  They  speak  of  the  battle,  which  we  may 
perhaps  have  to-morrow,"  Bernard  finally 
ventured  to  observe;  "can  you  understand 
the  conversation,  my  friends  ?" 

"The  emperor's  sentinel  hears  nothing, 
comrade,"  replied  one  of  the  grenadiers  with 
a  severe  look. 

"  Neither  does  he  speak,"  added  the  other 
in  atone  of  reproach. 

Hardly  were  these  words  uttered,  when 
Marshals  Ney  and  Davoust,  both  evidently 
highly  excited,  with  a  quick  step  came  out  of 
the  tent  and  took  their  way  in  different  direc- 
tions without  bidding  each  other  good  night. 
It  was  apparent  that  they  were  reciprocally  in 
no  friendly  humor.  Bernard  clearly  distin- 
guished the  voice  of  the  emperor,  who  spoke 
loudly  and  with  irritation.  A  few  moments 
afterwards  the  Viceroy  of  Italy  left  the 
tent  The  sentinels  presented  arms  when  he 
pp.ssed.  But  this  ordinafily  kind  and  conde- 
scending man  did  not  return  their  salute — he 
seemed  to  be  so  powerfully  excited,  so  com- 
pletely absorbed  and  preoccupied,  that  exter- 
nal matters  were  entirely  lost  upon  him.  By 
the  light  of  a  fire  which  burned  not  far  from 
the  tent,  and  which  was  used  for  the  impe- 
rial kitchen,  Bernard  could  see  the  expressive 
features  of  the  prince,  on  whose  brain  dark 
clouds  of  sorrow  had  gathered.  There  was 
so  much  nobleness  and  gentleness  in  those 
features,  so  much  manly  resolution,  united 


with  mild  majesty,  that  the  impression  they 
made  upon  the  beholder  could  never  be  eradi- 
cated. With  steady  look  Bernard  still  follow- 
ed the  figure,  when  the  clattering  of  a  sabre 
again  drew  his  attention  to  the  entrance  of 
the  Imperial  tent.  It  was  the  King  of  Na- 
ples, who  in  his  chivalrous,  martial  costume, 
a  heron  feather  stuck  in  his  fur  cap,  emerged 
with  rapid  steps  from  the  tent,  murmuring 
some  unintelligible  words  to  himself  which 
however,  sounded  as  the  echo  of  anger  and 
excitement.  Without  observing  Bernard,  he 
passed  close  before  his  horse.  Bernard  now 
plainly  heard  thep  King  exclaiming,  stamping 
his  feet  on  the  ground  as  he  walked,  in  a  half- 
suppressed  voice : 

^^Moscoto!  Moscou!  Cette  ville  nousper- 
drar 

But  hardly  had  he  advanced  a  few  steps 
when,  as  if  recollecting  something,  he  stop- 
ped, turned  round,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Where  is  the  orderly  of  Colonel  Rasin- 
ski ?" 

Bernard  wanted  to  spring  from  his  horse, 
but  the  King  cried :  "  Stay  where  you  are ! 
This  order  for  the  Colonel ! — quick !" 

With  these  words  he  withdrew,  and  Ber- 
nard rode  back  to  the  bivouac  of  his  regi- 
ment. Endowed  with  a  happy  capacity  for 
observation  and  finding  his  way  in  any  place, 
despite  the  darkness  and  the  labyrinth  of 
watch-fires,  which  surrounded  him  on  every 
side,  he  succeeded  in  a  short  time  in  finding 
the  encampment  of  his  comrades.  With 
eager  haste  Rasinski  opened  the  dispatch  and 
read  it  by  the  fire. 

The  qjght  passed  without  any  occurrence. 
The  piquets  had  been  doubled  and  part  of  the 
soldiers  remained  under  arms,  yet  the  repose 
of  the  others  was  not  disturbed.  At  dawn 
of  day,  they  expected  to  see  the  enemy  drawn 
up  in  order  of  battle.  But  in  this  they  were 
deceived.  The  whole  wide  plain  which  had 
been  left  to  him  for  a  battle-field  was  empty. 
The  town,  with  its  old  massive  walls,  sur- 
rounded by  eighteen  towers,  lay  gloomy  and 
silent  in  the  dusk  of  morning ;  not  the  least 
stir  or  sound  seemed  to  proceed  from  it:  The 
whole  French  army  was  under  arms,  the 
troops  could  at  any  moment  be  brought  into 
order  of  battle.  The  emperor,  accompanied 
by  several  iparshals  and  aids,  was  seen  riding 
repeatedly  over  the  plain.  He  rode  up  one 
hill  after  the  other  and  looked  aroimd,  in  the 
hope,  finally,  of  discovering  the  enemy  from 
some  point  arranging  themselves  for  the  en- 
counter. 

One  of  the  Marshals,  Belliard,  rode  up  to 
Rasinski,  beckoned,  and  then  pxssed  some 
words  with  him.  Immediately  he  ordered  the 
first  squadron  which  Boleslaus  commanded  to 
follow  him. 

They    rode    for  some    distance    up    the 


I» 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


Dnieper.  At  a  turn  of  the  road  they  met 
some  twenty  or  thirty  Cossacks,  who,  as 
soon  as  they  saw  the  enemy,  galloped  away 
across  the  field,  like  a  herd  of  frightened 
deer.  In  a  moment  they  had  disappeared ; 
but,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  they  were 
seen  again,  from  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  just  as, 
on  their  little  horses,  they  were  swimming 
across  the  river,  at  a  place  where  a  bend  in 
its  course  concealed  it  from  view. 

"  The  devil ! "  cried  Rasinski,  suddenly, 
turning  to  the  Marshal,  and  pointing  with  his 
sword  in  the  distance ;  "  do  you  see  yonder 
columns  'i  That  is  the  Rus^an  army  in  full 
retreat,  on  the  road  to  Borodino  !" 

The  Marshal  cast  a  discontented  look  in 
the  direction  indicated.  "  The  Emperor  will 
be  beside  himself  with  vexation.  Till  now, 
he  had  still  hoped  to  see  that  army  come  forth 
to  battle,  and  Davoust  confirmed  him  in  this 
illusion  ;  now,  all  such  hopes  must  vanish,  for 
those  columns  of  artillery,  infantry,  and  ca- 
valry, which  fill  the  road,  are  too  numerous 
to  expect  otherwise.  But,  I  will  immediately 
report  it  to  him."  In  a  gallop,  the  Marshal 
set  out  across  the  field,  to  head-quarters. 

Rasinski  commanded  Boleslaus  to  recon- 
noitre up  the  river,  whether  he  could  not  find 
a  fording-place,  by  which  cavalry,  and,  if  need 
be,  artillery  and  infantry,  might  reach  the 
other  bank ;  for  he  very  justly  concluded,  that 
the  Emperor  would  give  orders  to  attack  the 
enemy  in  flank,  and  cut  off"  his  retreat. 

For  more  than  an  hour  Boleslaus  rode  with 
his  men,  along  the  river's  margin.  In  every 
spot  which  had  the  appearance  of  a  ford,  he 
was  the  first  to  make  the  attempt  t£  riding 
through  it;  but  he  did  not  find  what  he 
sought  for,  and  came  near  losing  some  men 
by  the  experiment.  Displeased  at  his  bad 
success,  he  was  on  the  point  of  returning, 
when  he  heard  the  thunder  of  a  battery  be- 
hind him.  He  looked  back,  and  beheld  the 
whole  shore  lined  with  heavy  masses  of  ar- 
tillery, which  played  upon  the  Russian-  army, 
as  it  moved  slowly  along  the  opposite  bank. 
Now,  they  also  posted  some  batteries  to  si- 
lence the  hostile  fire,  and  soon  their  terrible 
effects  were  seen.  A  dense  black  cloud,  like 
some  huge  monster,  spread  over  the  field ; — 
red,  vivid  flashes  alone  penetrated  the  smoke, 
immediately  followed  by  the  deafening  thun- 
der. Boleslaus,  who  had  given  up  the  hope  of 
finding  a  fording-place,  resolved  to  go  back 
with  his  men ;  and  now  he  had  the  field  of 
death  and  desolation  before  him ;  for,  not  only 
were  these  batteries  constantly  playing  upon 
each  other,  but  the  whole  field  before  Smo- 
lensko  was  shaken  by  an  obstinate  fight. 

The  Emperor  had  ordered  the  attack  upon 
the  town,  of  which  he  now  wished  to  gain 
the  speedy  possession.  Dark  masses  of  in- 
fiintry  were,  therefore,  advancing  from  every 


point,  to  disperse  the  enemy,  after  weakening 
him  by  the  cannonade.  The  earth  seemed  to 
tremble  in  dismay  beneath  the  horrible  din — 
dense  clouds  of  smoke  sailed  slowly  over  the 
field  and  cast  their  sombre  shadows  on  this 
scene  of  destruction. 

The  sun,  like  a  bloody  eye,  looked  down 
tlirough  the  opaque  atmosphere.  The  fright- 
ened birds  fluttered  away,  and  left  the  scene 
Excepting  the  deep,  growling  thunder  of  tlie 
battle,  which  Boleslaus  heard  only  from  the 
distance,  no  sound  was  to  be  detected.  In 
deep  silence,  nature  lay  motionless, — no 
breath  of  air  stirred  the  trees ;— everything 
seemed  as  if  paralyzed  by  the  unhallowed 
doings  of  men,  and  to  await  its  own  hour  of 
dissolution.  Silent  and  sad,  Boleslaus  rode  at 
the  head  of  his  men,  over  the  hill,  and  ap- 
proached the  bloody  field.  The  engagement, 
which  would  have  filled  the  warriors  with 
courageous  ardor,  if  they  had  been  al- 
lowed to  throw  themselves  into  its  desola^ 
ting  vortex,  did  notv,  as  they  were  compelled 
to  look  on  from  a  distance  and  could  take 
no  part  in  the  affray,  create  in  them  an  oppo- 
site feeling  of  discontent.  Being  placed  be- 
yond the  sphere  of  action,  they  felt  more 
keenly  its  terrible  realities — ^more  deeply,  be- 
cause they  were  able  to  scan  it  more  fully. 

"  I  believe  Satan  himself  is  at  work  in  that 
hollow  there,"  said  Petrowski,  pointing  to  a 
place  where  the  French  artillery  stood  enve- 
loped and  almost  hidden  by  the  thickest  smoke. 

"  They  seem  to  stand  in  the  faces  of  three 
cross-fires,"  replied  Boleslaus. 

"  Ah !  sure  enough ;  those  three  clouds 
over  there  rain  lightning  upon  them  !  And 
they  hit !  The  tumbrils  and  ammunition 
chests  are  flying  into  the  air  as  if  they  were 
standing  on  counter-mines.  There,  a  reserve 
battery  is  coming  up  at  a  trot ;  they  must 
have  been  cut  up  dreadfully  by  this  time. 
The  Muscovites  seem  to  get  savage.  If  we 
only  had  them  in  the  open  field,  so  that  the 
cavalry  also  might  come  at  them !  The  sa^ 
bre  is  to-day  as  light  in  my  hand  as  a  walk- 
ing-stick. By  thunder!  I  would — hell  and 
destruction ! — another  tumbril  gone  !"  And 
the  spot  which  Petrowski  had  pointed  out  did 
truly,  at  this  particular  juncture,  as  they 
drew  nearer,  present  no  bad  specimen  of  a 
fire^vomiting  volcant).  The  smoke  hovered 
over  the  place  in  black,  towering  columns ; 
then  passed  slowly  away,  and  rolled  itself  in 
dense  and  heavy  masses  across  the  field,  be- 
hind the  battery.  The  fire  of  the  enemy  be- 
came, for  this  reason,  more  and  more  murder- 
ous, because  he  had  the  advantage  of  the 
wind,  and  his  antagonist  plainly  in  sight. 
Thus,  balls  and  shells  poured  incessantly  into 
the  batteries  with  destructive  effect;  the 
ground  literally  trembling  under  the  feet  of 
the  combatants. 


=»':•:.'•>.: 


='^v>P- 


•'.  -r. 


'"W'^- 


■,** 


^^  liAHMbBcnrs  INVASION  OP  rimqUiP*''^ 


m 


«We  will  hi^^'td  fam  a  little  more  to  the 
IM^  otherttote  we  shall  come  within  range," 
sdd  Boleslans  to  Petrowski. 

*So  I  think,  too,"  replied  the  old  man; 
*  we  might  lose  a  couple  of  horses  unneces- 
sarily ;  and  I  do  not  like  to  lose,  when  I  can 
g«t  nothing  in  return." 

••  Thou  art  right,  old  moustache ;  and  there 
is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  "to  ride  round 
that  hill,"  replied  Boleslaus,  after  having  exa^ 
mined  the  ground. 

They  turned  down  into  a  hollow  where 
they  were  soon  under  cover  from  the  enemy's 
fire,  but  where  they  could  no  longer  see  the 
ensanguined  battle-ground.  In  a  short  time 
they  reaiikd  the  bivouac,  and  Boleslaus  re- 
ported to^Asinski  his  unsuccessful  exer- 
tions. 

**  I  know  it  already,"  he  replied ;  "  for  while 
thou  wert  gone,  we  have  found  some  persons 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  localities.  But 
there  is  a  passa^  further  up  the  stream, 
which,  however,  we  can  only  make  use  of  to- 
wards evening  with  any  advantage; it  is  impas- 
sable for  artillery,  as  tlie  banks  are  very  steep 
and  overgrown  with  brushwood.  To  attack 
the  Russians  in  the  rear  with»a  whole  corps, 
is  therefore  impossible  ;  still,  we  might,  per- 
haps, alarm  them  a  little,  capture  a  troop  of 
marauders,  and  make  some  booty.  This 
charge  has  been  entrusted  to  us.  I  am  glad 
of  it ;  we  shall,  at  least,  have  some  small 
share  in  the  affair  of  this  day,  where  cavalry, 
however,  could  do  nothing  more  than  stand 
still  and  look  on?' 

Meanwhile,  the  battle,  under  the  walls  of  the 
town,  continued  with  tlie  greatest  fury.  Ra- 
sinski  and  his  officers  had  takenup  a  position 
from  whence  they  could  observe  the  whole 
scene.  The  position  of  the  batteries  near 
the  river  vvas  still  one  where  death  and  mas- 
sacre reigned  paramount.  The  eyes  of  the 
spectators  were  with  painful  anxiety  directed 
towards  the  spot  wliiere  so  many  of  'their 
comrades  haAt  to  be  sacrificed,  in  order  to  en- 
sure the  success  of  the  day.  A  troop  of 
horsemen  emerged  from  the  thick  whirling 
smo^  and  took*their  way  across  the  level 
ground,  towards  the  Emperor's  tent.  When 
t^lj^  came  nearer,  all  with  astonishment  be- 
held the  King  of  Naples.  He  rode  slowly, 
returned  the  respectful  salute  of  the  officers, 
arid  passed  them  without  giving  a  look  be- 
hind. But  one  of  the  officers  of  his  suite 
rode  up  to  RasinskL  /It  was  Cplonel  Reg- 
naid. 

"  For  God's  sake,  tell  me,"  said  Rasinski, 
"  what  business  had  you  over  there  in  thjit 
seething  cauldron  ?  and  the  king,  \Vhat  did  he 
wiant  there  ?" 

'_'  What  he  wanted  ?  Hardly  what  he  is 
doing  now-Wding  back  again.  Strange 
words  must  havie  passed  yesterday  between 


him  and  the  empft^*,  fbr  he  is  complete!^ 
changed.  He  insisted  upon  being  shut  down 
in  that  infernal  hole.  When  we  begged  of 
him  to  ride  back,  he  exclaimed, '  I  will  see  no 
one  destroyed  with  myself  !*^and  wished  to 
send  away  his  aids.  They  unanimously  as- 
sure him  that  they  would  not  stir  a  step.  In 
that  moment  a  bomb\truck  the  horse  of  his 
favorite,  Duteuil,  to  the  ground,  so  that  he 
thought  him  dead.  In  consternation  he  leaped 
from  his  horse,  and  drew  him  out  from  under 
the  weltering  animal  himself.  When  he  saw 
that  he  was  still  alive  and  uninjured,  he  em- 
braced him,  and  said:  'Let  us  ride  back, 
then.' " 

Bernard  listened  to  this  relation  with  ex- 
cited attention,  for  he  connected  it,  in  his  own 
mind,  with  what  he  had  observed  yesterday 
before  the  tent  of  the  Emperor,  but  which  he 
had  communicated  to  no  one. 

"  And  is  it  surmised  by  any  one,  what  took 
place  between  the  Emperor  and  his  brother- 
in-law  ?"  asked  Rasigski. 

"  By  everybody,"  replied  Regnard,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders;  "he,  as  well  as  Duroe, 
Dara,  Loban,  and  in  fact  all  of  us,  are  dissa- 
tisfied enough  with  this  campaign,  and  he  has 
probably  haii  a  quarrel  vath  him  about  it. 
The  old  song  with  the  old  chorus.  Well,  if 
we  lose  twenty  thousand  men  to-day,  in  tafc- 
ing  that  heap  of  stones,  it  will  be  sung  loud 
enough  to-morrow  in  the  whole  camp.  At 
least,  every  one  will  hum  it  silently  to  him- 
self, or  have  it  sounding  in  his  cars.  Good 
morning !"  And  vnth  these  words  he  rode 
on,  not  without  having  given  cause  for  se- 
rious thoughts  in  Rasinski's  mind. 


CHAPTER  XUV. 

The  attacks  upon  Smolensko  were  inces- 
sant during  the  whole  day.  The  Russians 
defended  themselves  with  coolness,  and  made 
great  havoc.  Thousands  of  warriors  fell  on 
the  field  of  death  to  rise  no  more,  and  still 
the  prize  of  these  sacrifices  had  not  been  at- 
tained, when  the  sun  began  to  decline,  and 
finally  sunk  behind  the  clouds. 

The  favorable  moment  had  now  arrived 
for  the  execution  of  Rasinski's  plans.  He  or- 
dered his  men  to  mount,  and  then  marched 
along  the  Dnieper,  but  so  far  from  the  banks 
(that  he  could  not  be  discovered  from  the 
other  side.  After  proceeding  far  about  so, 
hour,  tliis  precaution  became  unnecessary,  ftr 
it  became  perfectly  dark.  '♦ 

"Let  every  one  obsen'e  the  strictest  si- 
lence.    No  one  must  smoke,  or  strike  fire !" 

This  order,  from  Raspiski,  was  transmitted 


■.'^^ 


♦ 


1S8 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


Dnieper.  At  a  turn  of  the  road  they  met 
some  twenty  or  thirty  Cossacks,  who,  as 
soon  as  tliey  saw  tlie  enemy,  galloped  away 
across  tlie  iield,  like  a  herd  of  frightened 
deer.  In  a  moment  they  had  disappeared ; 
but,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  they  were 
seen  again,  from  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  just  as, 
on  their  little  liorses,  they  were  swimming 
across  the  river,  at  a  place  where  a  bend  in 
its  cour^^e  concealed  it  from  view. 

"  The  devil  ! "'  cried  Rasmski,  suddenly, 
turning  to  the  Marshal,  and  pointing  with  his 
sword  in  the  distance  ;  "  do  you  see  yonder 
columns '{  That  is  the  Rus^an  army  in  full 
retreat,  on  the  road  to  Borodino  !" 

The  Marshal  cast  a  discontented  look  in 
the  direction  indicated.  "  The  Emperor  will 
be  beside  himself  with  vexation.  Till  now, 
he  had  still  hoped  to  see  that  army  come  forth 
to  battle,  and  Davoust  confirmed  him  in  this 
illusion ;  now,  all  such  hopes  must  vanish,  for 
those  columns  of  artillery,  infantry,  and  ca- 
valry, which  fill  the  road,  are  too  numerous 
to  expect  otherwise.  But,  I  will  immediately 
report  it  to  him."'  In  a  gallop,  the  Marshal 
set  out  across  the  field,  to  head-quarters. 

Rasinski  commanded  Boleslaus  to  recon- 
noitre up  the  river,  whether  he  could  not  find 
a  fording-place,  by  which  cavalry,  and,  if  need 
be,  artillery  and  infantry,  might  reach  the 
other  bank ;  for  he  very  justly  concluded,  that 
the  Emperor  would  give  orders  to  attack  the 
enemy  in  flank,  and  cut  oft"  his  retreat. 

For  more  than  an  hour  Boleslaus  rode  with 
his  men,  along  the  river's  margin.  In  every 
spot  which  Jiad  the  appearance  of  a  ford,  he 
was  the  first  to  make  the  attempt  of  riding 
througii  it:  but  he  did  not  find  what  he 
sought  for,  and  came  near  losing  some  men 
by  the  experiment.  Displeased  at  his  bad 
success,  he  was  on  the  point  of  returning, 
when  he  heard  the  thunder  of  a  battery  be- 
hind him.  He  looked  back,  and  belield  the 
whole  shore  lined  with  heavy  masses  of  ar- 
tillery, which  played  upon  the  Russian-  army, 
as  it  moved  slowly  along  the  opposite  bank. 
Now,  they  also  posted  some  batteries  to  si- 
lence the  hostile  fire,  and  soon  tiieir  terrible 
effects  were  seen.  A  dense  black  cloud,  like 
some  huge  monster,  spread  over  the  field  ; — 
red,  vivid  flashes  alone  penetrated  the  smoke, 
immediately  followed  by  the  deafening  thun- 
der. Boleslaus,  who  liad  given  up  the  hope  of 
finding  a  fording-place,  resolved  to  go  back 
with  his  men ;  and  now  he  had  the  field  of 
death  and  desolation  before  him  ;  for,  not  only 
were  these  batteries  constantly  playing  upon 
each  other,  but  the  whole  field  before  Soio- 
lensko  was  shaken  by  an  obstinate  fight. 

The  Emperor  had  ordered  the  attack  upon 
the  town,  of  which  he  now  wished  to  gain 
the  speedy  possession.  Dark  masses  of  in- 
fantry were,  therefore,  advancing  from  every 


point,  to  disperse  the  enemy,  after  weakening 
him  by  the  cannonade.  The  earth  seemed  to 
tremble  in  dismay  beneath  the  horrible  din — 
dense  clouds  of  smoke  sailed  slowly  over  the 
field  and  cast  their  sombre  shadows  on  this 
scene  of  destruction. 

The  sun,  hke  a  bloody  eye,  looked  down 
through  the  opaque  atmosphere.  The  friglit- 
ened  birds  fluttered  away,  and  left  the  scene 
Excepting  the  deep,  growling  thunder  of  the 
battle,  which  Boleslaus  heard  only  from  the 
distance,  no  sound  was  to  be  detected.  In 
deep  silence,  nature  lay  motionless, — no 
breath  of  air  stirred  the  trees; — everything 
seemed  as  if  paralyzed  by  the  unhallowed 
doings  of  men,  and  to  await  its  own  hour  of 
dissolution.  Silent  and  sad,  Boleslaus  rode  at 
the  head  of  his  men,  over  the  hill,  and  ap- 
proached the  bloody  field.  The  engagement, 
which  would  have  filled  the  warriors  with 
courageous  ardor,  if  they  had  been  al- 
lowed to  throw  themselves  into  its  desola- 
ting vortex,  did  no«v,  as  they  were  compelled 
to  look  on  from  a  distance  and  could  take 
no  part  in  the  affray,  create  in  them  an  oppo- 
site feeling  of  discontent.  Being  placed  be- 
yond the  sphere  of  action,  they  felt  more 
keenly  its  terrible  realities — more  deeply,  be- 
cause they  were  able  to  scan  it  more  fully. 

"  I  believe  Satan  himself  is  at  work  in  that 
hollow  there,"  said  Petrowski,  pointing  to  a 
place  where  the  French  artillery  stood  enve- 
loped and  almost  hidden  by  the  thickest  smoke. 
"  They  seem  to  stand  in  the  faces  of  three 
cross-fires,"  replied  Boleslaus. 

"  Ah  !  sure  enough ;  those  three  clouds 
over  there  rain  lightning  upon  them  !  And 
they  hit !  The  tumbrils  and  ammunition 
chests  are  flying  into  the  air  as  if  they  were 
standing  on  counter-mines.  There,  a  reserve 
battery  is  coming  up  at  a  trot ;  they  must 
have  been  cut  up  dreadfully  by  this  time. 
The  Muscovites  seem  to  get  savage.  If  we 
only  had  them  in  the  open  field,  so  that  the 
cavalry  also  might  come  at  them  !  The  sa- 
bre is  to-day  as  light  in  my  hand  as  a  walk- 
ing-stick. By  thunder!  I  would — hell  and 
destruction  ! — another  tumbril  gone  !"  And 
the  spot  which  Petrowski  had  pointed  out  did 
truly,  at  this  particular  juncture,  as  they 
drew  nearer,  present  no  bad  specimen  of  a 
fire-vomiting  volcano.  The  smoke  hovered 
over  the  place  in  black,  towering  columns ; 
then  passed  slowly  away,  and  rolted  itself  in 
dense  and  heavy  masses  across  the  field,  be- 
hind the  battery.  The  fire  of  the  enemy  be- 
came, for  this  reason,  more  and  more  murder- 
ous, because  he  had  the  advantage  of  the 
wind,  and  his  antagonist  plainly  in  sight. 
Thus,  balls  and  shells  poured  incessantly  into 
the  batteries  with  destructive  effect;  the 
ground  literally  trembling  under  the  feet  of 
the  combatants. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


1S9 


"We  will  have  to  turn  a  little  more  to  the 
left,  otherwise  we  shall  come  within  range," 
said  Boleslaus  to  Petrowski. 

*"•  So  I  think,  too,"  replied  the  old  man ; 
**  we  might  lose  a  couple  of  horses  unneces- 
sarily ;  and  I  do  not  like  to  lose,  when  I  can 
get  nothing  in  return." 

**  Thou  art  right,  old  moustache  ;  and  there 
is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  "to  ride  round 
that  hill,"  replied  Boleslaus,  after  having  exa^ 
mined  the  ground. 

They  turned  down  into  a  hollow  where 
they  were  soon  under  cover  from  the  enemy's 
fire,  but  where  they  could  no  longer  see  the 
ensanguined  battle-ground.  In  a  short  time 
they  reaidted  the  bivouac,  and  Boleslaus  re- 
ported to^Rasinski  his  unsuccessful  exer- 
tions. 

"  I  know  it  already,"  he  replied ;  "  for  while 
thou  wert  gone,  we  have  found  some  persons 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  localities.  But 
there  is  a  passage  further  up  the  stream, 
which,  however,  we  can  only  make  use  of  to- 
wards evening  with  any  advantage; it  is  impas- 
sable for  artillery,  as  the  banks  are  very  steep 
and  overgrown  with  brushwood.  To  attack 
the  Russians  in  the  reai-  with»a  whole  corps, 
is  therefore  impossible  ;  still,  we  might,  per- 
haps, alarm  them  a  little,  capture  a  troop  of 
marauders,  and  make  some  booty.  This 
charge  has  been  entrusted  to  us.  I  am  glad 
of  it ;  we  shall,  at  least,  have  some  small 
share  in  the  affair  of  this  day,  where  cavalry, 
however,  could  do  notliing  more  than  stand 
still  and  look  on.*^' 

Meanwhile,  the  battle,  under  the  walls  of  the 
town,  continued  with  the  greatest  fury.  Ra- 
sinski  and  his  officers  had  tjiken  up  a  position 
from  whence  they  could  observe  the  whole 
scene.  The  position  of  the  batteries  near 
the  river  was  still  one  where  death  and  mas- 
sacre reigned  paramount.  The  eyes  of  the 
spectators  were  with  painful  anxiety  directed 
towards  the  spot  where  so  many  of  their 
comrades  had  to  be  sacrificed,  in  order  to  en- 
sure the  success  of  the  day.  A  troop  of 
liorsemen  emerged  from  the  thick  whirling 
smoke,  and  took 'their  way  across  the  level 
ground,  towards  the  Emperor's  tent.  When 
they  came  nearer,  all  with  astonishment  be- 
held the  King  of  Naples.  He  rode  slowly, 
returned  the  respectful  salute  of  the  officers, 
and  passed  them  without  giving  a  look  be- 
hind. But  one  of  the  officers  of  his  suite 
rode  up  to  RasinskL  Jt  was  Colonel 
nard. 

"  For  God's  sake,  tell  me,"  said  Rasinski, 
"  what  business  had  you  over  there  in  thvit 
seething  cauldron  ?  and  the  king,  vVhat  did  he 
want  there  ?" 

"  What  he  wanted  ]  Hardly  what  he  is 
doing  now—riding  back  again.  Strange 
words  must  have  passed  yesterday  between 

9 


Reg- 


him  and  the  emperor,  for  he  is  completely 
changed.  He  insisted  upon  being  shut  down 
in  that  infernal  hole.  When  we  begged  of 
him  to  ride  back,  he  exclaimed, '  I  will  see  no 
one  destroyed  with  myself!'  and  wished  to 
send  away  his  aids.  They  unanimously  as- 
sured him  that  they  would  not  stir  a  step.  In 
that  moment  a  bombVruck  the  horse  of  his 
fevorite,  Duteuil,  to  the  ground,  ko  that  he 
thought  him  dead.  In  consternation  he  leaped 
from  his  horse,  and  drew  him  out  from  under 
the  weltering  animal  himself.  When  he  saw 
that  he  was  still  alive  and  uninjured,  he  em- 
braced him,  and  said:  'Let  us  ride  back, 
then.' " 

Bernard  listened  to  this  relation  with  ex- 
cited attention,  for  he  connected  it,  in  his  own 
mind,  with  what  he  had  observed  yesterday 
before  the  tent  of  the  Emperor,  but  which  he 
had  communicated  to  no  one. 

"  And  is  it  surmised  by  any  one,  what  took 
place  between  the  Emperor  and  his  brother- 
in-law  ?"  asked  Rasigski. 

"  By  everybody,"  replied  Regnard,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders;  "  he,  as  well  as  Duroe, 
Dara,  Loban,  and  in  fact  all  of  us,  are  dissa^ 
tisfied  enough  with  this  campaign,  and  he  has 
probably  had  a  quarrel  with  him  about  it. 
The  old  song  with  the  old  chorus.  Well,  if 
we  lose  twenty  thousand  men  to-d:iy,  in  tak- 
ing that  heap  of  stones,  it  will  be  sung  loud 
enough  to-morrow  in  the  whole  camp.  At 
least,  every  one  will  hum  it  silently  to  him- 
self, or  have  it  sounding  in  his  cars.  Good 
morninEf!"  And  with  these  words  he  rode 
on,  not  without  having  given  cause  for  se- 
rious thoughts  in  Rasinski's  mind. . 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  attacks  upon  Smolensko  were  inces- 
sant during  the  whole  day.  The  Russians 
defended  themselves  with  coolness,  and  made 
great  havoc.  Thousands  of  warriors  fell  on 
the  field  of  death  to  rise  no  more,  and  still 
the  prize  of  these  sacrifices  had  not  been  at- 
tained, when  the  sun  began  to  decline,  and 
finally  sunk  behind  the  clouds. 

Tlie  favorable  moment  had  now  arrived 
for  the  execution  of  Rasinski's  plans.  He  or- 
dered his  men  to  mount,  and  then  marched 
along  the  Dnieper,  but  so  far  from  the  banks 
,that  he  could  not  be  discovered  from  the 
other  side.  After  proceeding  for  about  an 
hour,  tliis  precaution  became  unnecessary,  for 
it  became  perfectly  dark. 

"Let  every  one  observe  the  strictest  si- 
lence.    No  one  must  smoke,  or  strike  fire !" 

This  order,  from  Rasinski,  was  transmitted 


m 


£I6HT££N  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


from  file  to  file.  He  kept  by  his  dde  a  young 
man  from  the  neighborhood,  who  served  him 
as  guide ;  he  conversed  with  him  in  the  Rus- 
Man  language,  so  that  none  of  those  around 
him  could  understand  what  was  said.  The 
whole  expedition  was  to  be  kept  secret. 
They  were  in  a  wood  of  considerable  extent, 
when  Rasinski  ordered  n  halt.  Accompanied 
only  by  the  guide,  he  rode  forward,  command- 
ing the  regiment  to  await  his  return. 

The  expectations  of  all  were  powerfully 
aroused.  Deep  silence  prevailed  all  around. 
The  roar  of  the  battle,  which  for  a  length  of 
time  hud  been  heard  in  the  distance,  liad 
ceased.  The  setting  in  of  night  had  put  an 
end  to  the  bloody  drama.  The  wind  only 
was  heard,  as  it  rustled  among  the  branches 
and  tops  of  the  trees ;  and  from  time  to  time 
was  distinguished  the  monotonous  cry  of  the 
solitary  moor-fowl.  Half  an  hour  passed 
away  in  this  manner.  Rasinski  returned  and 
gave  orders  to  advance.  This  was  done  at  a 
slow  pace.  They  had  to  ride  up  and  down 
some  steep  hills  and  declivities,  overgrown 
with  serub-wood  and  fern.  Unexpectedly 
they  found  themselves  on  tlie  edge  of  an  ab- 
rupt precipice ;  the  Dniep?r  was  rushing  be- 
neath. "  By  twos,  forward  I — follow  me !" 
said  Rasinski,  in  a  low  voice,  yet  so  that  he 
was  heard  by  those  nearest  to  him.  In  low 
and  continuous  accents  the  order  was  repeated 
through  the  whole  line.  His  horse  carefully 
picked  [lis  way  down  the  steep  descent,  after 
which  ho  passed  through  the  river,  in  this 
place  not  more  than  three  feet  deep.  Boles- 
laus  followed  with  his  squadron.  The  others 
had  to  wait  a  considerable  time  on  the  ele- 
vated bank,  as  the  passage  could  only  be  ef- 
fected quite  slowly. 

Bernard,  ever  attentive  to  localities  and 
everything  around  him,  jostled  Louis  on  the 
elbow,  and  pointing  with  his  linger  towards 
the  opposite  shore,  said  :  "  Are  not  those  win- 
dows over  there  dimly  lighted  ?  I  think  I 
must  be  very  much  mistaken  if  we  are  not  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  castle  that  attracted  our 
notice  yester  morning." 

"  May  be  so,"  replied  Louis ;  "  but  only  see 
that  brilliant  light  behind  us.  What  can  that 
mean?  Tlie  whole  sky  above  the  forest  shines 
like  buminof  jjold." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  rising  moon,"  said  Ja- 
]  omir,  who  had  approached. 

"  That  cannot  be,"  said  Bernard ;  "  for  the 
moon  does  not  rise  until  midnight." 

Now,  a  red,  vivid  fksh,  as  of  lightning, 
pierced  the  blackened  heavens,  throwing  a 
bloody  reflexion  across  the  turbid  billows  of 
the  stream  below. 

"  That  is  fire,"  cried  Jaromir.  "  Look — 
look  ! — Now  it  bursts  forth  ;  the  flames  rise 
in  awful  orrandeur.     It  must  be  Smolensko 


burning  1" 


(..jjfe. 


There  was  shortly  no  doubt  left  of  tius 
fact ;  for  the  lurid  glow,  intersected  ^7 
brighter  belts  of  fire,  rose  every  moment  witn 
greater  vehemence  on  the  horizon,  and  began 
to  throw  its  illuminating  glare  even  on  the 
spot  where  tlie  troops  were  posted.  Now, 
the  black  battlements  and  tufrets  of  the  for- 
tifications of  the  town  began  to  stand  out  in 
bold  relief  against  the  golden,  ignited  back- 
ground; and  the  tops  of  the  nearest  trees  ap- 
peared as  if  decorated  with  a  halo  of  late 
evening  glor)\  Such  a  beautiful,  yet  ten^fic 
picture,  filled  every  breast  with  a  strango 
shuddering. 

"  Seest  thou  now  that  I  was  right?"  added 
Bernard,  turning  to  Louis  and  poioting  to  the 
other  bank ;  "  dost  thou  now  reJ^nise  the 
castle  in  the  light  of  those  flames  ?  Hark ! 
the  bell  in  the  village  !  It  is  the  alarm-bell, 
I  think."  , 

And,  indeed,  at  the  distance  of  hardly  a 
mile  before  them,  lay  the  ancient  structure. 
A  mysterious  sensation  took  possession  of 
Louis'  bosom.  Could.it  be  that  the  prophecy, 
uttered  half  in  jest,  was  about  coming  true  ? 
Were  carnage,  murder,  and  flames  to  rage 
even  here  ? 

But  there  was  no  time  allowed  him  to  fol- 
low these  meditations,  for,  at  that  instant,  the 
troop  to  which  he  belonged  set  itself  in 
motion  to  pass  through  the  river.  Bernard 
rode  close  by  his  side.  When  their  horses 
entered  the  water,  he  said,  half  jokingly,  half 
shuddering :  "  Do  we  ride  through  the  Phle- 
gethon,  the  Styx,  or  the  Cocytus  ?  One  does 
not  know  whether  it  is  a  black  or  a  fiery  river 
of  the  infernal  regions."  The  bloody  reflex- 
ion of  the  flames,  which  fell  far  across  the 
waves,  gave  rise  to  this  remark.  "  At  least," 
he  continued,  "  to  us  it  is  the  Rubicon  which 
we  pass.  Jacta  est  aha  I  We  hardly  know 
whether  we  shall  succeed  in  passing  over, 
much  less  if  we  shall  ever  repass  it  alive.  At 
any  rate,  I  will  now  make  my  will,  brother, 
dost  thou  hear  ?  Whether  the  fishes  in  the 
Dnieper  or  the  ravens  of  old  Russia  shall  riot 
on  my  flesh,  thou  art  my  universal  heir.  But 
my  heart — I  do  not  require  that  thou  shouldst 
extract  that  callous  lump  of  flesh  out  of  my 
bosom — ^take  it  with  thee  back  to  thy  sister 
Mary,  and  divide  it  between  you." 

"  How  comest  thou,  just  now,  to  speak  of 
my  sister?"  asked  Louis,  much  moved. 

"  She  is  a  jewel  of  a  girl — a  charming,  ex- 
cellent child,  and  deserves  a  better  brother 
than  thou  art !  But  why  she  stands  before, 
my  soul  just  at  this  moment,  as  if  I  had 
drawn  her  portrait  as  faithfully  as  a  mirror,  I 
know  not :  for  though  we  see  the  bloom  of 
ideas,  we  know  not  where  they  were  sown. 
Enough,  though  my  thoughts  make  some 
twenty  or  thirty  trips  every  day  of  my  life  to 
Dresden  or  Toplitz,  they  have  just  now  taken 


M 


# 
> 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


131 


^  eiXri  excursion,  and  speed  like  swallows 
towards  their  home.  True,  there  must  be 
some  reason  for  it,  for  everything  in  creation 
is  the  effect  of  a  cause.  I  will  make  a  me- 
morandum, that,  on  the  17th  of  August, 
just  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  I  thought  of 
Mary,  and  that  just  in  this  minute  she  has 
become  ten  times  dearer  to  me  than  ever." 

Louis  warmly  pitssed  the  hand  of  his 
friend.  Although  he  often  thought  that  he 
discovered  indications  of  a  silent  but  deep  af- 
fection for  his  sister  dwelling  in  Bernard's 
breast,  and  with  which  he  had  been  infinitely 
pleased,  yet  the  eccentric  man  had  never  per- 
mitted even  his  friend  to  see  clearly  through 
the  distorting,  many-colored  prisms  of  his 
jocund  disposition.  And  then  Louis  always 
had  a  feeling  as  if  Bernard's  soul  was  moved 
by  so  many  more  elevated  feelings  and  deeper 
and  impetuous  passions,  that  the  delicate 
blossom  of  love,  for  such  a  gentle,  shrinking 
being  as  Mary,  could  hardly  take  root  in  this 
turbulent  chaos.  He  replied :  "  It  is  quite 
natural  that  thou  shouldst  think  of  her.  In 
moments  of  estrangement  the  images  of  our 
beloved  ones  rise  before  us  with  increased 
distinctness." 

"  Yes,  yes,  thou  art  right,"  said  Bernard, 
partly  in  joke  and  partly  to  change  the  cur- 
rent of  the  subject;  "the  present  picture  is 
shaded  infernally  black,  but  light  will  soon  be 
shed  upon  it ;  for  those  torches  down  there 
upon  the  edge  of  the  sky  shine  brighter  and 
brighter ;  we  shall  soon  be  able  to  see  the 
mice  running  across  the  field.  But  I  find  the 
Dnieper  is  confoundedly  cold,  and  thy  horse 
has,  besides,  showered  a  whole  mouthful  of 
water  over  my  hips.  Wouldst  behave  like  a 
good  comrade,  thou  shouldst  teach  thy  horse 
better  manners.  God  be  praised  I — land !  I 
never  had  much  taste  for  sea  voyages." 

While  thus  chatting  together,  they  rode  up 
the  other  bank,  which  they  found  yet  steeper 
than  the  one  they  had  left. 

When  the  regiment  was  assembled,  Ra- 
sinski,  at  whose  elbow  the  guide  stendily  re- 
mained, placed  himself  at  its  head,  and  rode 
full  speed  towards  the  castle,  right  before 
lijm. 

"^  They  were  now  only  a  few  hundred  paces 
from  it.  Rasinski  commanded  a  halt.  "Friends," 
he  said,  "  we  are  within  reach  of  a  prize.  In 
yonder  castle,  as  I  am  I  believe  correctly  in- 
formed, are  assembled  many  Russian  gener- 
als and  nobles,  to  celebrate  a  marriage.  My 
intention  is  to  seize  them  all  by  surprise. 
Now  let  us  quietly  approach  until  we  see  the 
ground  clear  before  us,  so  that  no  further  ob- 
stacle can  arrest  our  course.  But  then  let 
us  fall  upon  them  like  a  whirlwind !  Now, 
forward,  friends ! — be  brave,  be  quick — dar- 
ing, but  cautious.    Forward !" 

They  advanced  until  they  reached  a  shelv- 


ing ground.  Rasinski  then  gave  the  word  fof 
the  attack  to  be  sounde(L  Putting  their 
panting  steeds  on  the  gallop,  the  whde  de- 
tachment rushed  forward  on  the  path  to  the 
castle  and  the  adjoinmg  village. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

The  momentous  events  which  had  crowded 
the  sensibiUties  of  Feodorowna  in  so  short  a 
space  of  time,  and  seriously  affected  the  se- 
renity of  her  mind,  were  well  calculated  finally 
to  overwhelm  her.  She  had  sunk  upon  a 
sick  bed ;  a  violent  fever  raged  throughout 
her  highly-excited  system :  the  physician 
considered  her  sfcite  very  critical.  Axinia 
would  therefore  on  no  consideration  leave  the 
bedside  of  her  dear  mistress,  although  Paul 
as  well  as  herself  entertained  great  fears 
about  their  own  fate  for  the  future,  in  case 
Feodorowna  should  die  before  they  could 
succeed  in  getting  out  of  the  country.  Axinia 
was  the  more  deterred  from  relinquishing  her 
part ;  as  the  patient  evidently  could  endure  the 
presence  and  attendance  of  no  one  else,  and 
immediately  fell  into  an  irritated  and  conse- 
quently dangerous  state,  as  soon  as  other  as- 
sistance offered  to  come  near  her.  This  was 
especially  the  case  with  regard  to  her  mother: 
her  presence  always  inspiring  Feodorowna 
with  a  certain  terror,  and  throwing  her  into 
spasms  of  anguish  as  often  as  she  approached 
her  couch.  In  her  calmer  moments  Jeannette 
was  permitted  to  take  the  place  of  the  ex- 
hausted Axinia ;  but  as  soon  as  the  fever  in- 
creased, Feodorowna,  with  the  impatience  in- 
cident to  disease,  again  asked  for  Axinia. 
Nearly  a  month  passed  in  this  melancholy 
manner.  Feodorowna  began  slowly  to  amend, 
but  she  was  so  reduced  by  sickness  that  her 
life  was  still  in  imminent  danger.  Though 
such  violent  paroxysms  of  fever  were  no 
longer  tp  be  apprehended,  yet  it  seemed  very 
doubtful  whether  the  system  retained  suffi- 
cient vital  power  to  rally  from  such  utter 
prostration.  But  the  mild  season  which  set 
in  just  then  had  a  beneficial  influence  upon 
her.  July,  with  its  ardent  sun  spreading  a  ricii 
glow  over  even  these  northern  wilds,  quick- 
ened the  bruised  and  broken  stamina  of  life 
into  the  expansion  of  a  renewed  bloom.  Feo- 
dorowna recovered  almost  against  her  will : 
and  if  the  deep,  hidden  grief  which  corroded 
her  heart  had  not  manifested  its  traces  on  her 
cheek  and  lips,  and  slightly  dimmed  the  bril- 
liant azure  of  her  eye,  her  charming  person 
would  have  developed  itself  in  a  loveliness 
resembhng  that  of  a  rose  in  whose  chalice 
the  trembling  drops  of  a  passing  shower  still 


¥ 


■  •» 


132 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


glisten.  But  she  was  not  refreshed  by  the 
showers  of  heaven — she  was  broken  solely  by 
its  storms. 

He  who  is  himself  a  sufferer  has  a  heart 
full  of  sympathy  for  the  wishes  and  sufferings 
of  others.  Feodorowna  therefore  felt  that  it 
was  her  first  duty  to  dispel  the  last  threaten- 
ing cloud  from  Axinia's  mind — ^to  hasten  her 
marriage  and  departure  with  Paul.  Father 
Gregorius  pronounced  the  benediction  of  the 
church  over  the  young  couple,  and  on  the  same 
day  they  left  the  castle,  laden  with  rich  pre- 
sents, to  seek  through  the  track  of  the  war 
the  way  to  the  enjoyment  of  quiet  felicity  on 
a  different  soil. 

Feodorowna  now  remained  entirely  alone  ; 
for  in  defiance  of  the  great  sacrifice  she  had 
made,  notwithstanding  the  resignation  with 
which  she  had  yielded  to  the  command  of  her 
parents,  her  motiier  continued  ever  frigid  and 
unfeeling.  She  did  not  seem  even  to  hai'bor 
any  pity  for  the  consuming  sorrows  and  pain 
which  Feodorowna  endured  for  her  sake.  It 
;s  true  ?he  had  never  shown  herself  other- 
wise, and  in  former  years  had  returned  the 
warmest  love  of  her  daughter  only  with  a 
kind  of  haughty  complacency. 

Feodorowna  had  been  accustomed  to  this, 
and  saw  in  those  stiff  and  chilling  formali- 
ties, nothing  but  the  sacred  superiority  of  the 
maternal  relation,  which  she  felt  bound  to 
obey  and  lionor.  But  now  she  felt,  that  a 
living,  self-sacrificing  child  stands  in  need  of 
a  mother's  heart  of  a  different  stamp.  Thus 
tier  love  had  been  transmuted  into  the  awed 
terror  of  forced  respect,  and  that  which  had 
so  strongly  manifested  itself  during  her  sick- 
ness, now  appeared  at  least  in  its  most  prom- 
iaent  traces.  She  was  seized>vith  a  kind  of 
indefinable  terror  whenever  she  found  herself 
in  the  presence  of  those  with  whom  her 
wounded  breast  ought  to  have  found  consola- 
tion and  relief. 

Ochalskoi  and  Dolgorow  were  with  the 
army ;  but  the  latter  had  sent  written  word 
during  the  first  days  of  August,  that  he  should 
shortly  arrive  at  the  castle,  to  celebrate  the 
nuptials  of  Feodorowna  with  the  Prince, 
for  which  now,  all  the  preparations  had 
been  completed.  .  The  obstacles  which  till 
now  had  existed,  had  rested  chiefly  in  the 
family  of  Ochalskoi,  who  according  to  an  old 
family  compact,  needed  the  consent  of  some 
relations  before  he  could  marry.  These  per- 
sons' private  interests  were  concerned  in  the 
fulfilment  of  this  compact,  and  as  from  selfish 
motives  they  would  rather  have  seen  the 
*  Prince  married  to  a  nearer  relation,  it  had 
cost  some  trouble  to  overcome  their  objections, 
and  this  had  not  been  done  without  some  sac- 
rifices on  the  part  of  0chalskoi.  He  had 
BOW  obtained  three  days  leave  of  absence  to 
celebrate  his  marriage,  after  which  his  young 


wife  and  her  mother,  were  immediately  to 
journey  over  Kalouga  to  bis  domains  in  Asia, 
that  they  might  be  entirely  removed  from  the 
distracted  scenes  of  the  war.  This  was  at  the 
very  moment  when  the.great  Russian  army 
had  quickly  thrown  itself  into  Smolensko  so 
as  not  to  be  cut  off  by  the  French.  On  the  same 
night,  when  the  army  had  already  began  its  re- 
treat from  the  fortress  to  Moscow,  Dolgorow 
and  Ochalskoi  arrived  at  the  castle.  The  mar- 
riage which  waste  be  performed  by  Gregorius, 
was  fixed  to  take  place  the  following  morn- 
ing. In  accordance  with  Dolgorow's  wish, 
the  nuptial  night  was  to  be  passed  at  the 
castle ;  but  on  the  next  morning  the  gen- 
tlemen were  again  to  repair  to  their  posts  in 
the  army,  while  the  ladies  were  to  set  out 
upon  their  journey  toOchalskoi's  eststes  over 
Jelina  and  Kalouga. 

The  appalling  moment  had  then  arrived 
when  Feodorowna  saw  the  dark  prison  open 
before  her  in  which  she  was  to  sigh  away 
her  entire  future  existence.  Even  the  sweet 
consolation  to  have  by  this  sacrifice  establish- 
ed the  happiness  of  others,  became  powerless 
in  view  of  the  approaching  reality.  The 
poor  victim  had  no  more  tears  to  shed.  She 
looked  upon  her  future  with  a  cold  shudder 
only.  Everything  conspired  to  make  the  day 
a  dreadful  one.  In  the  distance  was  heard 
the  deep  roar  of  the  cannon  from  the  beseigcd 
fortress  ;  whenever  she  went  to  the  window 
of  her  chamber,  she  saw  long  straggling  . 
lines  of  hiTsemen,  who  being  the  last  remains 
of  the  great  retreating  army,  passed  in  disor- 
der over  the  field,  along  the  high  road  to  Mos- 
cow, about  half  a  mile  from  the  castle.  The 
sight  of  these  hordes  of  Tartars  and  Cos-  • 
sacks,  who  came  from  countries  not  yet 
reached  by  European  culture,  and  among 
whom  she  was  to  reside  in  future,  filled  her 
with  gloomy  horror.  *'  Oh  why  did  I  become 
acquainted  with  lands  more  beautiful,  man- 
ners more  refined,  men  more  civilized  !  "  she 
sighed.  "  But  neither  was  I  happy  there ;  only 
brief  and  pleasant  dreams,  reflected  their 
charm?  upon  the  dark  background  of  my 
days." 

Lost  in  painful  revery,  the  unhappy  bride 
stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the* 
sterile  landscape,  through  which  raged  the 
havoc  of  war,  and  out  upon  the  lead-colored 
sky,  towards  which  the  clouds  of  battle  heavi- 
ly rolled.  Suddenly  she  felt  herself  slightly 
touched  by  the  hand.  It  was  Jeannette  car- 
rying the  bridal  dress  on  her  arm.  Feodo- 
rowna shrank  in  dismay,  a  sigh  escaping  her 
at  the  same  time  ;  yet  no  words  of  com- 
plaint were  heard  from  her  lips  ;  passively  , 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  adorned  like  the 
victim  led  to  the  altar. 

Jeaniiette  had  just  placed  the  bridal  wreath 
among  her  tresses  when  Ochalskoi  entered, 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


133 


to  offer  hia  devoirs  and  to  conduct  her  to  the 
charch,  where  Gregorius  was  awaiting  them. 
When  she  must  yield  to  unavoidable  neces- 
sity Feodorowna  ever  summoned  a  heroic  for- 
titude to  her  aid.  In  silence,  but  with  a  firm 
step  she  descended  the  broad  stairs,  leaning 
on  Ochalskoi's  arm.  In  the  saloon  she  was 
received  by  her  parents  and  the  assembled 
guests.  There  were  only  a  few  male 
relatives  of  the  two  families,  mostly  el- 
derly gentlemen  of  high  rank,  and  several 
generals,  who  being  Ochalskoi's  superiors, 
had  been  invited.  The  procession,  headed  by 
the  young  bridal  pair,  moved  towards  the 
church.  The  inhabitants  of  the  village  had 
assembled  and  formed  a  double  line,  through 
which  Feodorowna  passed,  saluting  her 
friends  on  either  side  with  a  melancholy  affa- 
bility. Flowers  were  strewed  on  her  path  ; 
but  they  could  not  cover  the  yawning  gulf 
which  the  bride  saw  opening  beneath  her. 

The  guests  and  the  people  were  also  sol- 
emn, for  a  marriage  ceremony  celebrated  un- 
der circumstances  such  as  the  present,  when 
the  cheerful  tolling  of  the  bells  was  accom- 
panied by  the  not  distant  roar  of  a  dreadful 
conflict ;  with  hundreds  of  bleeding  victims 
sinking,  while  words  of  peace  and  blessing 
are  pronounced,  cannot  be  called  a  happy 
event !  Gregorius  spoke  with  deep  emotion, 
grave  but  consoling  ;  all  listened  in  solemn 
silence.  In  a  few  minutes  the  rites  of  the 
church  were  performed  and  the  procession 
took  its  way  back  to  the  castle  where  a  din- 
ner was  prepared  for  the  assembled  guests. 
During  the  repast,  the  cannonading  contin- 
ued, in  fact  increased  in  violence.  The 
Countess  Dolgorow  became  alarmed,  and 
suggested  whether  it  would  not  be  best  to 
break  up  the  festivity. 

"We  are  here  in  perfect  safety,"  said 
one  of  the  generals  at  the  table  ;  "  Smolensko 
is  the  key  of  this  road.  As  long  as  that  gate 
is  shut  no  enemy  can  trouble  us.  And  we 
are  moreover  secured  against  any  little  annoy- 
ance by  large  troops  of  Cossacks,  who  patrol 
up  and  down  along  the  banks  of  the  river." 

''Yet  I  wish,"  said  Dolgorow  with  a  dark 
look,  "  that  more  efficient  measures  might  be 
adopted  for  our  defence,  although  it  comports 
well  with  my  family  plans  that  this  has  not 
been-done  ;  for  otherwise  I  would  hardly  have 
found  a  leisure  day  on  which  the  marria  le 
of  my  daughter  would  have  been  possible. 
But  the  welfare  of  the  land  is  paramount 
with  me,  and  I  think  it  would  have  been 
more  serviceable  to  the  country  had  a  battle 
been  accepted  when  offered  to  us  under  such 
favorable  circumstances  as  here  has  been 
the  case.  I  candidly  confess  that  I  cannot 
sympathize  in  the  views  of  the  Field-Marshal, 
who  ever  seeks  safety  in  retreat." 

"  No  more  does  any  one  of  us,"  replied  the 


general^  in  a  decided  tone.  "  If  Count  Bar- 
day  de  Tolly  were  a  born  Russian,  he  would 
not  bear  the  disgrace  of  our  country  so  philo- 
sophically. But  here,  when  I  see  none  but 
true  Russians  together,  I  may  say  a  word  in 
confidence.  I  think  that  the  greatest  part  of 
this  state  of  affairs  has  passed  by ;  it  is  said 
that  the  Emperor  has  at  last  yielded  to  the 
pressing  arguments  of  all  classes,  and  of 
men  high  in  office,  and  that  he  has  determin- 
ed to  confer  the  chief  command  upon  another." 

"  The  Prince  Bagration  ?  "  asked  Dolgo- 
row quickly. 

"  I  am  not  yet  at  liberty  to  mention  names," 
replied  the  general, ''  but  ho  is  a  noble,  well- 
deserving  Russian.  Already  negotiations 
have  been  entered  into  with  him.  A  brother 
in  arms  of  Suwarow  will  restore  to  Russia 
its  ancient  glory." 

"  Then  it  is  Prince  Kutosow  and  none 
other,"  said  Ochalskoi  with  great  anima- 
tion. "  To  tfiat  worthy  old  man,  be  he  our 
commander-in-chief  or  not,  let  this  bumper 
be  drained."  At  the  same  time  he  stood  up 
and  raised  the  brimming  goblet  to  his  lips. 
The  rest  followed  his  example,  touching  each 
others'  glasses. 

"  Be  our  leader,  who  he  may,"  said  Dolgo- 
row in  a  loud  voice,  "  we  will  word  our  toast 
in  such  a  manner  that  it  can  apply  to  none 
but  a  worthy  object.  To  that  son  of  Russia, 
who  inflicts  a  bloody  revenge  for  the  wrongs 
done  his  country." 

"  Vivat  hurrah  !  "  cried  they  all,  amid  the 
clatter  of  glasses  and  goblets. 

The  Countess  Dolgorow  rose.her  eye  beam- 
ing with  unusual  brilliancy,  her  habitually 
cold  and  rigid  ftfitures  quite  animated. 

"Then  I  also  will  bear  in  mind  the  ancient 
custom  of  my  country,"  she  said,  "  and  thou 
Feodorowna  follow  ray  example." 

With  these  words  she  look  the  veil  from  her 
head,  tore  it  in  pieces  and  distributed  strips 
among  the  gentlemen  sitting  nearest  to  her. 
The  bride  also  took  off  her  veil,  beneath  which, 
till  now,  she  had  tried  to  hide  her  agonized 
features.  A  virgin  blush  overspread  her  coun- 
tenance when  she  tore  and  divided  it. 

"Accept  ir,  my  husband,"  she  said  in  a  trem- 
ulous voice, "  take  with  you  into  the  battle  this 
memento  of  the  wife  you  leave  behind  ;  take  it 
also,  ye  worthy  defenders  of  my  coantry.  Mav 
it  in  the  hour  of  danger  remind  yoa  that  it  is 
the  aim  and  purpose  of  your  valiant  deeJs  to 
preserve  inviolate  to  the  daughters  of  Russia 
the  sanctuary  of  female  purity,  and  that  their 
warmest,  heartful  thanks  will  be  awarded 
you  when  once  crowned  with  laurels,  you 
can  return  this  emblem  of  consecration,  enno- 
bled by  previous  drops  of  blood  from  heroic 
patriots." 

Feodorowna  had  cast  her  eye  to  the  ground 
while  she  uttered  these  words  to  the  old  war- 


134 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


rior,  who  occupied  the  place  of  honor  at  her 

right.     He  replied  by  seizing  her  hand  and 

imprinted  an  impassioned  liiss  upon  it,  saying, 

'•  Bearing  the  memory  of  sucn  a  hand,  one 

foes  into  battle  as  gaily  as  to  a  wedding  party, 
hope,  charming  lady,  soon  to  return  to  you 
this  sign,  embroidered  with  true  Russian 
blood,  for  I  should  be  truly  proud  of  doing 
so,  that  you  might  redeem  it  according  to  the 
custom  of  our  country." 

A  deeper  blush  now  colored  Feodorowna's 
cheek,  because  the  privilege,  thrice  to  kiss 
the  fresh  lips  of  the  woman,  or  virgin,  whose 
keepsake  was  thus  returned,  could,  accord- 
ing to  the  old  custom,  never  be  refused  to  the 
valiant  son  of  his  country,  by  any  daughter 
of  Rurik's  race,  a  custom  which  long  since 
had  been  expunged  from  the  manners  of  the 
day,  only  recorded  in  historical  tradition,  and 
which  lately  had  again  been  called  into  ex- 
istence. For  in  any  great  crisis  in  their 
fortunes  nations  love  to  remember  the  usages 
of  their  fathers,  the  antiquated  manners  of 
their  couutry,  their  heroes,  and  their  national 
history  with  growing  gratitude  ;  often  not 
without  inwardly  reoroaching  themselves  for 
having  so  long  forgotten  these  hallowed  tra- 
ditions. 

The  evening  had  set  in  when  the  banquet 
broke  up,  and  the  guests  dispersed  to  pass 
the  time  in  the  adjoining  rooms.  Feodorow- 
na  looked  forward  with  trembling  anxiety 
to  the  approaching  hour  when,  left  alone  with 
her  husband,  she  would  be  compelled  to  en- 
counter the  last  fearful  struggle  with  her 
lacerated  heart. 

It  was  then  that  Jeannette  approached  her 
at  a  moment  when  she  had  i^tired  to  an  ad- 
joining room  from  the  comPfny  to  arrangS 
something  about  her  dress,  informing  her, 
that  Gregorius  was  in  her  chamber,  urgent- 
ly desiring  to  see  her.  Feodorowna  hasten- 
ed gladly  to  comply  with  the  request  of  the 
worthy  old  man.  Alas  !  her  whole  heart  was 
drawn  towards  him,  for  from  him  alone  she 
expected  to  receive  consolation  and  strength 
for  the  trying  ordeal  which  she  was  about 
to  encounter,  She^  found  him  in  her  room, 
with  an  expression  of  countenance  more  seri- 
ous than  usual.  * 

"  My  daughter,"  he  addressed  her,  "  the 
hour  has  come,  when  I  must  speak  to  thee 
of  important  things.  Thou  art  now  irrevo- 
cably the  consort  ot  Prince  Ochalskoi,  for  the 
sacred  rites  of  the  church  have  united  you. 
Death  alone  can  dissolve  the  union." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  father,"  faltered  Feodorow- 
na, "  I  know  it,  but  I  shall  not  falter  in'  the 
discharge  of  my  duties.  To  him,  to  whom 
with  repulsive  heart  I  gave  my  word  I  shall 
be  faithful  and  devoted  until  the  end  of  my 
days.     Alas  !  I  hope  this  will  not  be  far  off! " 

Overcome  with  grief  she  leaned  her  weary 


head  on  the  breast  of  the  venerable  priest. 

"  It  is  not  of  this  that  I  wish  to  speak, 
dear  daughter,"  replied  Gregorius,  mildly, 
"  for  I  am  convinced  of  the  strength  of  thy 
virtues.  I  came  to  impart  to  thee  a  secret 
which  thy  nurse  Rushka,  entrusted  to  me  as 
a  last  confession  on  her  death-bed,  and  which 
in  case  death  should  have  taken  me  from 
this  world,  she  penned  with  her  own  hand 
in  these  pages.  I  promised  her  on  my  sacer- 
dotal oath  not  to  divulge  their  contents  to 
thee  until  thy  marriage  should  be  celebrated. 
This  has  taken  place,  and  I  may  now  open 
my  lips.  Thou  art  not  Dolgorow's  daughter, 
no  native  of  this  country.  Germany  is  thy 
native  land,  but  thy  parents  have  long  since 
departed  this  world.  Count  Dolgorow  took 
thee  as  his  child  because  his  wife  gave  him 
no  hope  of  becoming  a  father.  These  are 
the  portraits  of  thy  parents  which  Rushka 
gave  to  me." 

With  these  wbrds  he  handed  to  Feodo- 
rowna a  letter  and  an  open  pocket-book  with 
two  portraits,  representing  a  young  lady  and 
an  officer. 

Like  a  statue  Feodorowna  stood  before 
Gregorius,  her  eyes  staring  and  fixed,  and 
making  fruiltess  attempts  to  speak.  Half 
unconsciously  she  took  the  things  which 
Gregorius  handed  to  her  and  put  them  on 
the  table  before  her.  Finally,  pressing  her 
folded  hands  violently  against  her  bosom,  she 
uttered  with  a  shrink  of  terror  the  words : 
"Not  their  daughter! — and  yet — Oh,  Almighty 
God ! " 

"  Calm  thyself,  my  child,"  said  Gregorius 
mildly,  "  turn  thy  heart  humbly  toward  Him 
who  wonderfully  guides  the  fate  of  man.  I 
have  discovered  to  thee  what  was  most  im- 
portant and  most  necessary.  Read  these 
papers  and  thou  wilt  learn  everything  further 
to  be  known  in  this  matter.  I  must  now  leave 
thee.  Let  the  first  violent  emotion  subside 
which  now  labors  in  tumultuous  billows  with- 
in thy  breast.  When  thou  art  alone  thou 
wilt  soon  regain  thy  self-possession.  — 
Shouldst  thou  stand  in  need  of  me  more,  send 
for  me." 

With  these  words  the  old  man  left  the 
room.  Feorodowna  was  unable  to  give  a  re- 
ply ;  she  staggered  to  a  seat  and  rested  her 
heavy  head  in  her  hands.  It  was  long  before 
she  was  able  to  open  the  papers  which  were 
to  disclose  to  her  the  secret  of  her  life.  The 
likenesses  of  her  parents  lay  before  her  ;  with 
fixed  gaze  she  looked  upon  them,  but  the 
streaming  tears  drowned  her  sight.  Finally 
she  opened  the  five  seals  of  the  letters  address- 
ed to  her,  and  read  what  Rushka  had  written 
with  her  own  aged  and  trembling  hand  as 
follows :  I 

*'My  Deae  Child:—  ^■'* 

"  As  long  as  I  lived,  an  awful  oath,  ford- 


.'^<KAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


IS5 


Uyeolorted  from  i^«ealed  my  lips;. when 
I  am  no  more,  my  voice  shall  still  sound  from 
my  grave,  to  disclose  to  thee  the  mystery  in 
which   thy  youth  is  enveloped.     Thou  art 
neither  the  daughter  of  Dolgorow  nor  of  the 
countess.     Thou  wert  but  a  few  days  old 
when  in  Germany,  after  thy  mother's  death, 
they  adopted  thee  as  their  own  child.    At 
that  time  the  count  had  been  married  already 
four  years  ;  he  had  given  up  the  hope  of  ever 
becoming  a   father.     The  loneliness  of  a 
childless  life,  but  more  than  this,  the  desire 
to  see  strange  countries,  had  induced  him  to 
undertake   extensive  journies.     In  May  of 
the  year  1 793  he  was  at  Pyrmont ;  here  he 
became  acquainted  with  thy  mother,  who,  as 
a  widow,  accompanied  her  son,  a  beautiful 
boy  five  years  old,  with  brown  curly  hair, 
named  Berno  ;  thou  wert  at  this  time  yet 
unborn.     She  had  come  hither  to  regain  her 
impaired  health.      Her    name    was   Louisa 
Waldhekn ;  her  husband  was  an  officer,  and 
had  been  killed  in  a  duel.     Thrown   by  this 
disaster  into  a  state  of  indigence,  and  being 
sickly,  expecting  the  birth  of  another  child, 
handsome  and  gentle  as  she  was,  she  attract- 
ed, notwithstanding  her  secluded  habits  the 
attention  of  several  of  the  richer   bathing 
guests.     The  Countess  Dolgorow,  who  had 
hired  the  second  story  of  the  house  in  which 
thy  mother  occupied  a  small  room,  proposed 
to  receive  her  as  a  companion,  and  undertake 
to  teach  the  count  and  herself   the   Ger- 
man language.     Thy  mother,  urged  by  her 
pressing    wants,  accepted  the  offer ;    three 
months  later,  when  we  had. already  left  Pyr- 
mont, and  were  on  a  journey  to  Switzerland 
and  Italy,  thou  wast  born.     In  a  solitary  inn, 
not  far  from  Freibourg,  in  the  Black  Forest, 
thou  first  opened  thine  eyes  upon  the  light  of 
day.     As  the  confinement  of  thy  mother  ap- 
proached, the  count  first  wanted  to  leave  her 
with  the  good  people  on  the  spot,  let  me  stay 
with  her,  and  himself  to  continue  the  journey 
with  the  countess  until  we  sHould  be  able  to 
follow  them.     But  a  tlight  indisposition  of 
the  countess  herself  induced  him  to  partici- 
pate in  our  seclusion  until  thy  mother  should 
be  fully  restored.     But  she  did  not  recover ; 
on  the  eleventh  day  after  thy  birth  she  died. 
I  was  her  attendant  in  the  last  hours  of  her 
life  ;  when  dying  siie  entrusted  to  me  the  care 
of  her  children  and  handed   me   her  whole 
little  property  to  keep  for  you.     Among  otlier 
trinkets  there  were  her  own. and   her  hus- 
band's weddinj?   rings.      Immediately  after 
the  interment,  I  remarked  that  the  count  was 
revolving  some  important  plan  in  his  mind  ; 
he  often  locked  himself  up  with  the  countess, 
and  they  frequently  had  long  and  animated 
conversations  together ;  several  times  when 
I  was  present,  ite  spoke  in  English,  which  I 
did  not  understand ;  I  could  only  ascertain 


that   thou    wert  the  subject  of  their  dis- 
cussion, as  they  both  often  looked  at  thee 
with  marked  attention.    A  few  days  after- 
wards the  count  discharged  the  two  German 
servants  whom  he  had  with  him,  under  the 
pretence  that  in  Italy  he  wanted  to  engage 
native  help ;  he  gave  them  money  fur  their 
journey  and  sent  them  back  to  their  homes. 
Finally,  one  morning,  he  called  me  and  told 
me  that  it  was  his  intention  to  adopt  thee  as 
his  daughter.     I  was  of  course  very  glad  at 
this,  for  the  fate  of  the  two  children  liad  often 
weighed  heavily  on  my  mind ;  but  my  joy 
soon  turned  to  the  deepest  sadoess  when  h& 
declared  that  he  would  provide  for  the  brother 
in  a  different  manner,  as  it .  must  remain  a 
profound  secret  that  the  countess  was  not 
the  child's  mother.     '  Then  the  two  are  to 
be   separated '?  '    I  exclaimed    in   fear    and 
amazement.     '  It  will  be  no  misfortune  for 
them,  since  they  have   never    known  each 
other,' replied  the  count  harshly.  I  was  silent 
and  confused.     '  But,'  he  continued,  '  you  are 
the  only  one  who  knows  the  secret;  but  I  de- 
mand of  you  that  you  take  a  solemn  oath  on 
the   consecrated  Host,  never  to  divulge  it. 
If  thou  refuse,  recollect  that  thyself  and  thy 
brothers  are  my  serfs — that  with  one  word 
I  can  plunge  you  all  back  into  the  most  gall- 
ing servitude.'     This  threat  was  terrible. 
Through  the  kindness  of  the  old  count,  the 
father  of  thy  foster-father,  my  brothers,  had 
already  become  rich  merchants  in  Moscow. 
But  the  pride  of  the  Russian  nobles  to  pos- 
sess rich  serfs  was  the  reason  that,  though 
otherwise    welWisposedy  he    had  not  gives 
them  their  letters  of  emancipatioii.     I  knew 
what  was  the  terrible  lot  which  awaited  tliem 
if  [  should  refuse   to  take   the  oath.     And 
moreover,  as  the  count's  resolution  seemed  to 
secure   thy  happiness,  as  I  considered  that 
thou  couldst  lose  nothing  in  a  brother  whom 
thou  hadst  never  known,  and  when  finally  on 
my  prayers   he  promised  to  provide  for  the 
boy  liberally,  I  resolved  to  submit  to  Iiis  will. 
But  now,  in  the  approaching  hour  of  death, 
knowing    that    thou    art   fiir     away    from 
me,     my    dearest     child — the    upbraidings 
of  an   awakened   conscience   forbid   that  I 
should   envenom   and    crush   thy   true   and 
loving  heart  by  persevering  in  an  eternal  un- 
truth.    The  countess  could  come  into  pos- 
session of  a  great  portion  of  her  estates  when 
she  had  become  a  mother  and  left  issue.     It 
was  not  afl'ection,  but  self-interest,  the  basest 
egotism  which  prompted  both  of  them  to  adopt 
this  plan.     It  is  only  two  years  ago,  shortly 
before  his  departure  for  England,  that  she 
received  this  inheritance,  which   was  just 
about  sufficient  to  repair  the  count's  finances, 
which    had  -become    greatly    embarrassed 
through  extravagance  and  love  of  splendor, 
which  his  means  did  not  warrant'    Now  be 


"^'^ 


1^6 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


thinks  to  gain  a  rich  son-in-law  through  thy 
means,  whose  beauty  and  angehc  kindness 
captivate  every  heart.  Thou  hast  been 
educated  to  take  thy  rank  among  the  rich 
and  nohle ;  ihou  hast  gained  the  prerogatives 
of  being  free-born  !  O  my  dear !  these  pre- 
rogatives are  infinitely  great.  Shouldst 
thou  learn  the  secret  of  thy  birth  too  soon  it 
might  pnt  tiiese  advantages  in  jeopard}'.  It 
iijlitit  tijeretore  nut  be  imparted  to  thee  until, 
by  thy  mirriage  with  a  free-born  Russian, 
the  privilpges  of  thy  position  in  society  shall 
have  been  irrevocably  confirmed.  I  have 
confessed  all  to  good  father  Giegorius,  which 
like  a  heavy  weight  burdened  my  soul ;  I  en- 
trust him  with  this  paper,  that  he  may  guard 
it  in  ihc  vestry  of  the  church,  and  destroy  it  in 
case  thou  shouldst  die  unmarried,  or  deliver 
it  into  thy  iiands  when  no  one  can  deprive 
thee  of  th;it  which  has  been  purchased  with 
the  loss  of  a  brother." 

Ftodorowna  was  obliged  to  lay  the  paper 
aside,  the  bursting  tears  preventing  her  from 
reading  any  farther.  But  she  scion  recovered 
from  this  weakness,  by  a  burning  impa- 
tience, especially  to  learn  something  respect- 
ing her  brotiier's  fate. 

"Having  taken  the  oath  my  master  thus 
exacted  from  me,  I  left  the  apartment.  The 
little,  five-years  old  boy,  thy  brother,  ran 
gaily  but  quietly  up  to  me  and  with  his  tiny 
hngiers  pointed  to  the  cradle  to  show  me  how 
gently  thou  wast  sleeping.  I  now  recollect- 
od  the  two  rings.  A  dark  foreboding,  for 
which  I  could  not  account  to  myself,  prompt- 
ed me  to  secure  to  the  boy,  at  least  this  one 
memento.  Quickly  I  took  his  Sunday  dress 
and  SL' wed  the  rinf  jnto  the  linin".  It  was 
well  that  I  did  so — for  in  a  few  moments  the 
count  entered  and  ordered  me  to  dress  the 
boy,  as  he  would  drive  out  with  him.  An 
ominous  look  told  me  what  was  his  intention. 
With  tears  I  executed  the  command.  The 
boy  could  not  understand  why  I  wept,  but 
was  glad  of  the  drive  he  was  to  have.  His 
impatience — yes,  his  impetuosity,  for  he  was 
as  wild  and  lively  as  he  was  good-natured — 
made  him  hardly  able  to  await  the  moment 
when  he  could  enter  the  carriage  with  the 
count. 

*• '  Something    hurts  me,  here  !'  he  cried  ; 
angrily,  when  1  buttoned  his  coat,  putting  his 
hand  to  the  ring.    Afraid,  lest  in  this  manner 
he  might  himself  betray  what  I  had  done,  I 
quickly  cut  open   one  of  the  folds,  that  the  i 
)re?sure  might  not  be  so  great.     If  the  count ' 
lad  discovered  my  secret,  it  would  have  gone 
lard  with  me.     But  I  could  not  act  other- 
wise.   To  my  great  astonishment  I  saw  that : 
post-horses  were  put  to  the  count's  travel- ' 
ling  carriage.     Some  minutes  afterwards  he 
entered  it  with  the  child,  and  1  have  never 
seen  the  boy  since.     What  has  become  of  I 


him  I  know  not — for  on  ^e  next  morninf  I 
left  with  the  countess  and  thyself,  following 
the  count,  who,  it  was  said,  had  gone  on 
before.  Three  days  afterwards  we  met  him 
at  Cologne.  He  was  silent  and  I  did  not 
dare  to  make  inquiries.  Thence  we  travel- 
led into  Holland,  then  to  England,  because 
existing  circumstances  made  an  Italian  lour 
hazardous.  It  was  three  years  before  we 
!  returned  to  Russ^ia.  Thou  wast  now  regard- 
ed as  the  Countess  Peodorovvna  Dolgorow, 
and  as  such  thou  wast  brought  up.  The 
ring,  my  dearest  child,  wliich  I,  at  my  de- 
parture, prayed  thee  never  to  part  with,  but 
to  keep  always  in  memory  of  me,  is  thy 
mother's  wedding  ring.  By  it  thou  mayest 
some  day,  perhaps,  find  thy  brother.  1  know 
of  nothing  more  I  have  to  reveal  to  thee. — 
But  I  adjure  thee  keep  these  secrets  faith- 
fully, and  do  not  impart  them  even  to  thy 
foster-parents — for  I  am  afraid  their  revenge 
would  overtake  my  still  living  brothers.  No 
mortal  but  thyself  and  pious  father  Gregori- 
us  are  cognizant  of  these  things,  and  his 
lips  are  sealed  by  the  sacred  inviolability  of 
the  confessional." 

"Now  f;ire\^ll,  my  dear  child!  Forgive 
me,  whatever  wrong  I  have  done  thee,  for  the 
sake  of  that  love  which  I  alwavs  entertained 
for  thee.  Mayest  thou  be  happy  on  earth  as 
thou  art  good  and  beautifbl ;  then  thou  wilt 
not  shed  so  many  tears,  not  pass  so  many 
anxious  and  restless  nights  as  I  have  endur- 
ed. Thy  three-seore  and  ten  years  old  faith- 
ful nurse,  Rushka." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

I  ^ 
Feodorowna  was  thrown  into  the  greatest 
excitement  by  tjje  perusal  of  this  letter.  In 
her  consternation  she  could  form  no  resolu- 
tion. Now  she  wanted  to  call  Gregorius, 
now  run  down  to  her  pjirents,  and  now  again 
disclose  everything  to  her  husband.  She 
gtized  with  tear-bedimmed  eyes  upon  the  por- 
traits of  her  parents.  "Oh,  how  charming 
the  features  of  my  mother,  how  noble  and 
manly  those  of  my  father !"  The  sight  of  the 
unknown  departed  penetrated  her  soul  with 
a  softening  emotion.  "Oh,  you  would  have 
loved  your  daughter  n,ow  truly  ?"  she  sighed, 
"  alas !  now  I  know  why  I  was  sacrificed." 
For  a  long  time  she  stood  irresolute,  painful 
thoughts  laperating  her  heart.  Finally  she 
rung  the  bell  and  ordered  Jeannette  to  call 
Father  Gregorius.  He  had  been  waiting  in 
the  antechamber.  "  Oh,  my  father,  my  pre- 
server, what  shall  I  do  ?"  she  exclaimed,  raia- 
ing,  aa  he  entered,  her  hands. 


^ 


,<;f,;: 


* 


m 


■■*J 


t^aA';.. 


^ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Wt 


He  felt  Rashka's  ring  on  her  finger.  *^  This 
is  the  only  token,"  she  said,  "  by  which  I  am 
to  recognise  my  brother.  Alas,  and  but  a 
short  time  ago,  I  was-  near  losing  it  forever ! 
But  God  watched  over  me !    It  happened — 

0  forgive  me — ^I  was  about  to  trouble  you 
with  a  silly  story,  and  at  this  time,  when  mo- 
ments are  so  precious.  What  is  your  advice, 
my  father?  I  am  no  longer  Count  Dol- 
gorow's  daughter,  I  am  no  longer  bound  to 
sacrifice  myself  for  his  sake." 

"  The  sacrifice  has  been  made  by  thee," 
interrupted  Gregorius  wildly,  but  with  holy 
earnest.  "  Thou  art  the  wife  of  Prince  Och- 
alskoi,  the  indissoluble  band  of  the  Church 
has  united  you,  and  this  band  death  alone  can 
annul." 

"  Oh  heavenly  mercy !"  exclaimed  Feodo- 
rowna" — "  nor  even  when  extorted  by  fraud 
and  falsehood !" . 

"  Not  even  then,  my  daughter !" 

"  Theil  let  me  be  styled  his  wife,  but  never 
shall  I  be  such  until  the  brother  of  whom 
they  have  robbed  me  shall  be  restored  to  my 
sight.  Alas,  why  did  not  the  light  of  truth 
break  one  day  sooner  upon  this  black  tissue 
of  deception,  before  I  was  irrevocably  fet- 
tered. Father,  you  couM  have  saved  me  from 
this  abyss,  but  your  iron  tongue  remained 
mute !" 

Exhausted,  she  fell  upon  a  seat ;  her  arms 
fell  at  her  side.  Gregorius  approached  her, 
took  her  gently  by  one  hand,  while  with  the 
other  he  pointed  towards  heaven.  "Vows 
are  sacred,  are  inviolable,  my  daughter.  The 
Lord  blesses  those  who  faithfully  observe 
their  solemn  engagements.  Reflect  that 
the  prayers  of  the  dying,  that  fate ^"    - 

"How!"  exclaimed  Feodorowna  passion- 
ately ;  "  should  the  fear  of  a  fresh  imposition 
from  him  who  robbed  me  of  my  brother  deter 
me  fjBom  demanding  my  most  sacred  rights  ] 
Rushka  fears  the  fate  of  her  brothers — must 

1  therefore  forever  renounce  my  own  good  1 
No !  I  will  confront  Count  Dolgorow  and 
ask  him,  '  Where  is  my  brother  V  ^  With  a 
word  he  can  restore  him  to  me." 

*'  Deareht  daughter,  thou  art  beside  thyself, 
thou  dost  not  know  what  thou  wouldst  do," 
replied  Gregorius  in  a  consolatory  voice ;  •'  be- 
come calm  and  thou  wilt  act  differently.  How 
if  Count  Dolgorow  should  deny  the  truth  of 
Rushka's  confession  ?  And  must  he  not  do 
so  to  avoid  drawing  down  the  worst  conse- 
quences upon  his  own  head  ?  Or  dost  thou 
think  that  he  who  possesses  courage  to  do 
the  deed,  would  lack  enough  to  d^end  it  ? 
What  proofs  hast  thou  against  him  ?  Wil[ 
not  his  declaration  receive  as  much  credence 
as  that  of  the  serf,  Rushka?  Hast  thou  not 
been  christened  as  his  daughter  ?  Did  not  I, 
myself,  in  this  church,  touch  thy  temples  with 
the  holy  symbol  ?    Oh,  my  daughter,  subdue 


thy  overwrought  feelings,  for  thou  wouldst 
only  heap  sorrow  upon  sorrow !  Thou 
wouldst  gain  nothing  but  the  enmity  of  father, 
mother  and  husband,  and  cause  conten- 
tion, strife  and  confusion,  without  obtaining 
either  counsel  or  credit  for  thyself.  And 
canst  thou  forget  the  holy  vows  pronounced 
but  a  few  hours  .ago  ?  Is  it  thy  husband  who 
deceived  thee  ?  Canst  thou  refuse  fidelity  and  * 
obedience  to  him  because  others  have  done 
thee  wrong  ?  And  was  not  this  wrong  accom- 
panied by  a  thousand  instances  of  kindness 
bestowed  upon  thee?  Hast  thou  not  been 
fostered  with  care?  Were  not  thy  foster 
parents  the  same  as  if  they  had  given  thee 
life  ?  No,  my  daughter !  do  not  forsake  the 
path  of  humility  and  endurance  which  the 
Lord  has  traced  out  for  thee.  If  there  is 
any  hope  left  to  thee  of  ever  again  finding 
thy  brother,  it  is  to  be  found  only  in  a  resolu-  ' 
tion  to  bury  the  secret  in  uncomplaining 
silence  within  thine  own  bosom.  And  dost 
thou  know  whether  thou  dost  not  perhaps 
draw  down  misery  upon  his  head,  if  thou 
shouldst  ever  demand  that  he  be  restored  to 
thee?  Conjecture  how  far  away  he  maybe 
from  thee  !  Listen  to  the  words  of  thy  old 
faithful  pastor,  and  promise  him  that  thou 
wilt  follow  his  advice,  and  as  long  as  he  shall 
still  wander  on  this  earth  he  will  stand  by  • 
thee  in  unshaken  fidelity.  And  should  the 
Lord  call  him  home,  his  prayer  shall  ever  in 
the  other  world  entail  the  blessing  of  heaven 
upon  thee." 

The  old  man's  right  hand  grasped  both  of 
Feodorowna's.  Her  breast  rose  convulsively  *" 
in  a  violent  mental  struggle.  "Well,  then, 
be  it  so,"  she  faltered.  "  That  also  is  over- 
come. I  promise  to  be  silent.  But,"  she 
continued,  rising  in  a  majestical  attitude  and 
pointing  to  heaven :  "  I  swear,  and  may  the 
Almighty  hear  my  oath ! — I  swear  from  this 
hour  unceasing  search  after  my  brother,  and 
if  I  find  him,  no  power  on  earth  shall  pre- 
vent me  from  pressing  him  to  my  heart  and 
exclaiming :  '1  am  thy  sister !' — I  must  now 
go  down  again ;  I  can  do  it,  for  I  am  com- 
posed. Now  leave  me,  my  father ;  but  come 
and  see  me  once  more  to-morrow,  before  I 
leave  this  castle  Torever." 

She  stretched  him  her  hand.  Gregyius 
laid  his  right  hand  upon  her  drooping  n^d, 
pronounced  a  blessing  over  her,  and  left  in 
silence.       * 

Feodorowna  still  needed  some  moments  to 
collect  herself.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving  the  room  when  the  door  opened  knd 
Ochalskoi  entered.  In  alarm,  she  involunta- 
rily took  a  step  backwards.  But  Ochalskoi 
with  engaging  softness  approached  her,  and 
taking  her  hand,  said:  "Did  I  frighten  you, 
my  dear  ?  You  will  certaiiily  pardon  me,  it 
my  love  impels  me  to  see*  you.    We  have 


'  V 


.iJki' 


138 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


missed  you  nearly  an  hotur.  I  cannot  blame 
you  for  withdrawing  from  the  company,  but 
you  will  understand  that  the  same  wish  has 
actuated  me.  Feodorowna!  the  happiest 
hour  of  my  life  has  arrived!  I  clasp  the 
most  lovely,  the  most  beautiful  of  her  sex 
within  my  arms.  The  wall  of  external  cir- 
cumspectntess  is  now  broken  down;  will  you 
•  not  lovingly,  entirely  be  mine  ?" 

While  speaking  these  words  he  embraced 
her,  kissing  her  pale  lips  and  cheeks.     Trem- 
bling, she  could  neitlier  oppose  nor  respond 
to  his  tender  words ;  silently  she  permitted 
the  embraces  to  which  he  had  acquired  a  right. 
"  If  thou  art  willing  Feodorowna,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  this  is  the  moment  of  our  auspicious 
union.     We  must  resolutely  snatch  the  fleet- 
ing moments  of  happiness  allowed  in  these 
iron  times.     It  would  be  cruel  to  retard  them 
were  it  only  for  a  second.    Charming  girl,  you 
would  not  trifle  ?    We  are  now  in  the  sweet 
sanctuary  of  love,  and  no  one  will  disturb  us. 
Your  mother  herself  told  me  to  seek  you. 
The  guests  have  just  left  the  castle.     The 
peasants  and  servants  alone,  in  their  way, 
celebrate  the   day  of  our  happiness    with 
games  and  dances.    I  have  already  sent  away 
Jeannette.     Sweetest,  it  is  only  one  short 
night  we  can  steal  from  a  cruel  fate,  which 
to-morrow  demands  our  separation." 

The  anguish  of  her  heart  had  deprived  the 
unhappy  girl  of  speech.  Ochalskoi  imagined 
that  her  silence  proceeded  from  virgin  bash- 
fulness,  that  her  quiet  endurance  was  loving, 
yielding  resignation,  the  feverish  throbbing 
of  her  breast,  the  excitement  of  blissful  emo- 
tion moved  with  increasing  ardor ;  he  pressed 
his  burning  lips  to  her  pale  countenance,  his 
right  arm  held  her  closely  embraced,  while 
liis  left  hand,  as  if  in  tlie  officious  dalliance 
of  love,  unloosened  her  rich  tresses. 

Feodorowna,  with  already  ebbing  strength, 
endeavored  to  extriciite  herself  from  Ochal- 
skoi's  embrace.  He  attributed  her  eftbrt  to 
the  promptings  of  maidenly  timidity — espe- 
cially that  the  lights  were  still  burning  on  the 
table. 

•*  I  understand  thee,  dearest,"  he  whispered ; 
"it  is  only  in  hallowed  obscurity  that  the 
tender  blossoms  of  love  may  be  plucked." 

With  a  quick  motion  he  extinguished  the 
tapers,  and  drew  the  fainting  girl  into  his  lap, 
at  the  same  time  seating  liimself  upon  the 
ottoman.  * 

"The  bridal  chamber  is  ready,  Feodorowna 
^thy  ba.shful  struggles  are  in  vain.  Now  no 
mortal,  no  deity  can  any  longer  despoil  me  of 


my  sacred  right  of  culling  this  charming  rose 
Fly !  thou  timid  roe,  hide  thyself  beneath  the 
soft,  silken  cover  of  the  couch  which  is  to  re- 
ceive u^  both — fly !  but  I  shall  follow  thee — 
two  minutes  mor^and  we  are  forever  one  and 
onited!" 


Here  he  momentarily  released  the  agonized 
girl  from  his  encircling  arms.  She  would  es- 
cape from  him,  but  she  no  longer  knew  what 
she  did.  Trembling,  she  staggered  towards  the 
door  of  the  room — she  opened  it,  but  with  a 
loud  shriek,  as  she  recoiled  and  fell  senseless 
to  the  floor. 

Ochalskoi,  frightened  himself,  sprang  up, 
for  upon  Feodorowna's  opening  the  door,  he 
saw  her  figure  illumined  by  a  red  glare;  while 
a  broad  line  of  a  reflected  blaze  darted  into 
the  room. 

"  Death  and  hell,  what  is  this !"  he  exclaim- 
ed. 

It  was  the  flames  of  burning  Smolensko, 
which  had  just  broken  through  the  canopy  of 
smoke,  that  till  now  had  kept  them  smothered. 
The  fortress  lay  directly  opposite  the  window 
of  the  bridal' chamber,  the  curtains  of  which 
had  not  been  drawn. 

Ochalskoi  raised  the  fainting  Feodorowna, 
held  her  in  his  arms  and  tried  to  re-assure  her ! 
"  Compose  thyself,  dearest !  It  is  a  terrible 
bridal  torch  which  lights  us  to  happiness,  but 
it  shall  not  frustrate  our  sweet  conjunction ! 
The  time  will  come  when  tlie  torch  of  revenge 
will  be  brandished  in  our  hands !" 

The  eyes  of  Feodorowna  remained  closed, 
Ochalskoi  knew  not  whether  to  call  for 
assistance,  or  try  alone  to  recover  her 
from  her  swoon.  Her  death-like  paleness  was 
hidden  from  him  by  the  lurid  glare  of  the 
fire.  The  rosy  tints  of  the  evening  aurora 
seemed  to  have  suff'used  themselves  over  her 
pallid  form.  Ochalskoi's  desires  were  but 
more  fiercely  kindled  by  the  sight  "  Thou 
wilt  awake  on  my  bosom,  my  sweet  one,"  he 
said,  half-whispering  to  her,  half-talking  to 
himself,  wholly  absorbed  in  contemplating 
her  charms.  "  I  do  what  I  dare,"  he  said  in  a 
faltering  tone,  as  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms, 
and  bore  her  to  the  bridal-couoff 

With  an  unsteady  hand  he  unfastened  the 
belt  of  her  dress,  and  the  clasp  at  her  waist, 
that  she  might  breathe  more  freely. 

"  Feodorowna,  awake !"  he  cried,  imprinti;ig 
burning  kisses  upon  her  swelling  bosom ;  •*  or 
no,  repose  in  this  charming  insensibility  until 
thou  art  warmed  into  new  existence  by  the 
ardor  of  my  embraces !" 

At  this  moment  tlie  report  of  three  shots 
was  heard. 

"  What  was  tbat  ?"  cried  Ochalskoi,  spring- 
ing up  from  his  bride.  Quickly  he  threw  open 
the  window  and  looked  out.  The  confused 
cry  of  many  voices,  followed  by  the  rattling  of 
musketry  and  pistols,  reached  his  ear.  "  As- 
sault !  treason !"  he  cried  frantically.  "  Death 
and  destruction,  and  at  this  very  moment 
too!"  After  uttering  this  exclaniation  of 
rage,  Ochalskoi  rushed  violently  out  of  the 
chamber. 
The  castle  was  already  in  «  state  of  indie* 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


IM 


acnbable  tumult  The  servants  and  peasants 
had  first  been  interrupted  in  their  sports  by 
the  alarm  bell  which  announces  the  confla- 
gration. Then  the  reports  of  the  shots  were 
heard,  and  every  one  thought  that  the  enemy 
waa  already  within  the  walls  of  the  castie. 
On  the  corridors,  stairs  and  court-yards,  even 
through  the  apartments,  male  and  female  do- 
mestics, musicians,  peasants  and  peasant  girls 
were  running  in  the  wildest  disorder. 

"  Bar  the  door,"  roared  Dolgorow.  "  Up 
with  the  draw-bridge  !  All  of  you  run  to  the 
castle  yard.  Never  fear !  It  can  be  nothing 
more  than  a  blind  alarm !"  But  while,  by 
means  of  such  measures,  he  in  vain  tried  to 
restore  some  confidence  and  order,  a  peasant 
rushed  in  breathleaj},  and  cried : 

"  The  enemy,  the  enemy !  They  are  falling 
upon  us !    Let  every  one  fly  to  ihe  woods !" 

Amidst  loud  cries  and  lamentations  the 
frightened  servants,  peasants,  and  the  girls  ran 
.  out  into  the  yard  and  garden,  some  to  hide 
themselves,  others  to  seek  safety  in  flight 
Others,  again,  r&n  out  of  the  castle  gate  to 
reach  their  houses  in  the  village.  To  draw 
up  the  bridge  or  to  close  the  gate  was  conse- 
quently rendered  impracticable. 

Dolgorow  in  the  greatest  rage  struck  at  the 
fugitives  with  his  sword,  thereby  still  more 
increasing  the  fright  and  confusion. 

A  troop  of  Cossacks  now  darted  by  the 
gate  and  cried :  "  The  enemy !  the  enemy ! 
Fly  and  set  fire  to  everything !" 

The  tumult  and  confusion  were  now  past 
description.  No  one  could  hear  the  other 
speak. 

"It  is  in  vain  to  offer  resistance,"  cried 
Ochalskoi,  who,  meanwhile,  had  armed  him- 
self with  sabre  and  pistols;  "  let  me  save  the 
women.  We  may  escape  tlirough  the  garden 
into  the  forest,  which  will  afford  us  security." 

"  That  gate  at  least  shall  be  closed,"  roared 
Dolgorow,  quite  beside  himself,  "  otherwise 
a  shameful  flight  will  be  of  no  service  to  us." 

Now  at  last  his  commands  were  followed 
by  obedience ;  for  a  moment  the  entrance  be- 
came unincumbered.  Himself,  Ochalskoi, 
and  three  intrepid  servants  quickly  disengaged 
the  chains  with  which  the  gat^  were  secured 
to  the  wall,  closed  them,  and  drew  the  massive 
iron  bars. 

It  was  indeed  high  time,  for  just  at  this  mo- 
ment, Rasinski,  at  the  head  of  his  lancers, 
came  dashing  down  the  hill,  and  the  gate  was 
barely  closed  ere  the  clattering  of  hoofs  was 
heard  at  the  draw-bridge. 
^  Dolgorow  and  Ochalskoi  flew  up  the  stairs 
V  to  the  bridal  chamber  to  save  Feodorowna, 
while  the  countess  collected  her  valuables, 
and  whatever  was  most  necessary  in  a  flight 
such  as  this.  The  noise  of  >  the  attack  had 
aroused  the  unhappy  girl  from  her  swoon. 
She  had  already  adjusted  her  dress — ^for  hav- 


ing now  become  indifferent  to  the  greatest 
alarms,  which  she  no  longer  drea&d,  she 
had  collectea  her  most  valuable  property- 
consisting  only  of  papers  h,nd  the  portraits  of 
her  parents.  Quickly  she  threw  her  cloak 
around  her,  and  at  the  side  of  her  father  and 
her  husband  hurried  down  the  saloon,  where 
the  countess  was  awaiting  them.  As  they 
reached  the  lower  story,  the  assailants  were 
battering  so  furiously  at  the  gate  that  it  every 
moment  threatened  to  break  down,  and  afford 
them  an  entrance.  Nor  were  the  fugitives 
able  to  gain  the  yard  without  much  interrup- 
tion and  delay,  for  a  number  of  the  servant* 
and  inmates  having  recovered  from  their 
panic,  were  hauling  together  straw,  liay,  and 
other  combustible  materials  in  great  quanti- 
ties, wherewith  to  barricade  the  passage  to 
the  interior  of  the  house.  "  We  will  cut 
them  off  from  us  by  a  rampart  of  fire,"  cried 
Dolgorow,  discharging  his  pistol  into  the 
dry  rubbish,  which  ^mediately  caught 
"Heap  on,  my  men,  let  the  smoke  choke  the 
dogs  as  they  enter !"  cried  the  enraged  Rus- 
sian. The  servants,  in  their  eager  zeal,  nearly 
extinguished  the  flame  by  the  superabun- 
dance of  materials.  "  That's  the  way,  lads !" 
cried  the  count,  "set  the  whole  castle  on 
fire,  if  we  must  leave  it;  we'll  never  be- 
queath it  to  our  enemies." 

Seeing  that  his  order  was  executed,  Dol- 
gorow hastened  towards  the  garden,  through 
which  Ochalskoi  and  the  ladies  were  already 
flying  to  escape  by  the  postern  gate.  In  a 
few  moments  the  servants  also  had  overtaken 
their  masters,  and  when  they  looked  behind 
them,  a  black,  thick  column  of  smoke  was 
seen  ascending  from  the  castle-yard. 

"  They  will  not  stay  long  in  those  quar- 
ters," said  one  of  the  servants  with  a  grin. 
"  In  every  outhouse  and  stable  there's  a  bun- 
dle of  straw  burning.  It  will  light  us  on  our 
way  through  the  woods.*  I  think  it  is  only  a 
pity  we  could  not  get  the  horses  along." 

"  Silence,"  shouted  Dolgorow,  "  our  flight 
must  be  as  much  concealed  as  possible."  All 
then  pushed  their  way  in  silent  speed. 

The  fugitives  had  not  yet  reached  the 
outer  wall  of  the  park  when  the  red  &ame 
shone  brightly  through  the  trees  of  the  gar- 
den. They  gained  the  open  country  through 
the  postern  gate,  and  hastened  onward  on  a 
narrow  post-path  leading  to  the  not  distant 
forest  Af  they  reached  the  edge  of  the 
woodland  a  small  party  of  horsemen  turned 
the  angle  of  the  garden  wall  at  full  gallop,  in 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  These  hurried  in 
full  run  towards  the  woods,  but  with  the 
swiftness  of  lightning  the  horsemen  followed 
them,  and  before  they  had  reached  the  wished- 
for  securitjr,  balls  were  whistling  through  tjie 
startled  au*,  and  drawn  swords  braaoisbed 
among  them.  -,  .  ■    - " .- 


% 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


Bv  means  of  two  heavy  logs  which  had 
quickly  been  procured,  Eiasinski  had  burst 
open  the  door  of  the  castle.  Ho  was  met  on 
its  opening  by  a  dense  stilling  mass  of  smoke 
and  flame.  But  the  wind  rushing  in  through 
the  entnmce,  drove  tlie,  fire  on  towards  the 
yard  and  garden,  and  the  burning  straw,  rub- 
bish and  hay,  were  also  swept  away  by  the 
violent  draught  of  air;  it  foUowod  that  no 
artificial  means  were  required  to  efiect  an 
entrance.  The  wind  alone  accomplished 
it  in  the  space  of  two  minutes,  and  nothing 
but  some  ashes  and  smoke  lingering  in  the 
front  part  of  the  castle  gave  evidence  of 
the  origin  of  the  fire.  Kasinski  immedi- 
ately pressed  forward  with  the  men.  "  Guard 
every  entrance — suffer  no  one  to  leave  the 
premises !  Boleslaus,  ride  with  your  squad- 
ron around  the  castle-wall  to  the  lefL  Ja- 
romir,  you  to  the  right.  Bring  all  the  pris- 
oners here.  Let  none  assault  the  village. 
The  castle  is  our  rendezvous  for  the  present." 

With  these  words  Rasinski  dismounted, 
and  accompanied  by  the  guide,  Louis,  Ber- 
nard, and  several  officers  and  soldiers,  passed 
quickly  up  tiie  stairs  to  search  the  interior. 
They  passed  without  hindrance  through  a 
long  suite  of  rooms,  all  the  doors  of  which 
they  found  open,  betraying  the  hurried  escape 
of  the  occupants.  Much  disappointed,  he 
finally  stopped  in  the  great  saloon  and  vex- 
edly  exclaimed : 

"  Can  it  be  a  failure  ?  I  fear  the  flames  of 
Smolensko  have  defrauded  us  of  our  prize, 
and  have  been  tiie  means  of  prematurely,  dis- 
persing the  guests  of  the  wedding  party." 

The  guide  shrugged  and  replied :  "  It  is  not 
my  fault,  your  honor,  my  information  was 
correct.  If  the  fortress  had  not  been  set  on 
fire,  we  would  have  been  in  the  castle  before 
a  soul  had  suspected,  and  the  generals  as  well 
as  all  the  other  great  folks  been  our  pris- 
oners." 

"  You  have  earned  your  reward — ^take  it," 
replied  Rasinski,  throwing  him  a  purse  of 
gold,  which  tiie  guide  pocketed  with  eager- 
ness. 

"  If  we  now  only  had  some  infantry  and  a 
couple  of  cannon,"  said  Rasinski,  turning  to 
the  officers,  '•  I  would  not  hesitate  a  moment, 
but  immediately  attack  the  enemy's  rear- 
guard, and  at  least  frighten  them  by  the  un- 
expected attiick.  But  as  it  is,  it  would  be- 
folly  to  advance  farther  into  the  country. 
The  patrols  of  infantry  and  troop  of  Cos- 
sacks which  we  saw  in  the  village  will,  no 
doubt,  have  given  the  alarm,  and  a  strong 
force  might  be  sent  against  us,  and  as  we 
have  only  a  narrow  passage  to  retreat  by,  our 
situation  might  become  very  critical.  We 
nlust  call  in  our  scattered  force  and  recross 
the  river  as  we  best  can." 

The  officers  all  coincided  in  the  opinion. 


Boleslaus  soon  after  returned  with  Ids 
men,  followed  by  Jaromir.  The  latter  brought 
in  some  of  the  count's  menials  as  prisoners. 
He  reported :  "  Close  by  the  woods  I  over- 
took the  fugitives.  They  were  the  inliabi- 
tants  and  servants  of  the  castle,  with  some 
ladies  among  them.  At  a  brisk  pace  we 
dashed  upon  them ;  some  fled,  while  others 
attempted  to  defend  themselves.  By  the 
fight  of  the  flames  from  the  castle-yard,  I  ob- 
served  an  officer  with  a  young  lady  in  his 
arms  trying  to  escape  in  the  tliicket.  I  quickly 
dismounted  to  overtake  them.  As  I  plunged 
through  the  bushes  and  approached  him,  ho 
dropped  the  lady  and  turned.  I  called  out  to 
him  to  surrender,  instead  of  which  he  fired  at 
me,  but  missed.  I  instalitly  returned  tho 
shot ;  he  fell ;  I  was  in  the  act  of  running  up 
to  him  when  some  Russians  threw  themselves 
between  us,  pressed  me  back,  and  almost 
overpowered  me.  Fortunately  I/eached  an 
open  space,  where  my  men  could  assist  me. 
They  saved  me ;  and  we  madewthree  prisoners. 
According  to  what  they  assert,  the  man  I  liit 
was  prince  Ochalskoi,  who,  this  very  day 
was  married  to  the  daughter  of  Count  Dol- 
gorow,  the  owner  of  this  castle." 

"  I  wish  we  had  been  successful  in  making 
that  one  capture,"  exclaimed  Rasinski  impa- 
tiently, "  but  I  do  not  blame  thee  for  it,  Ja- 
romu- — ^thou  didst  more  than  thy  duty.  For- 
tune has  not  been  sufficiently  favorable  to  us. 
Let  us  now  break  up,  lest  she  play  us.  a. 
worse  trick." 

The  prisoners  proving  of  no  importance 
whatever,  were  released,  with  the  caution  that 
they  would  be  shot  if  caught  again.  Thus 
Rasinski  succeeded  in  hiding  from  them '  the 
way  by  which  he  retreated,  for  at  the  moment 
of  crossing  the  Dnieper,  an  attack  would  have 
placed  hira  in  a  fearful  dilemma.  Besides, 
he  wanted  purposely  to  leave  the  enemy  in 
the  opinion  that  he  was  backed  by  a  strong 
force  which  had  crossed  the  Dnieper  during 
the  night. 

Thus  the  retreat  began,  the  burning  stables 
and  outhouses  being  left  to  the  flames.  It  was 
only  when,  havir.g  crossed  the  ford,  and  his 
force  was  passing  along  the  other  bank,  that 
Rasinski  noticed  that  Petrowski  and  Bliski, 
two  of  his  best  and  most  intrepid  officers, 
were  missing.  He  immediately  sent  back 
Boleslaus  witli  a  few  men  to  search  for  them. 
It  was  two  hours  before  the  latter  ret\n-ned, 
and  wholly  without  success.  Two  brave 
companions  were  given  up  for  lost 

"  Must  we  indeed  leave  these  two  braves  • 
to  be  sacrificed  ?"  cried  Rasinski,  deep  lines 
overspreading  his  brow.  "  Friends,  let  us 
hope  still.  Perhaps  they  have  only  lost  tlieir 
way  and  will  find  us  by-and-bye.  We  will 
advance  slowly  and  make  signals  occasioi^ 
ally.    Here  we  are  safe." 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA, 


141 


This  plan  was  pursued;  the  soldiers  gladly 
obeyed,  for  the  probable  lot  of  their  comrades 
weired  heavily  upon  their  minds.  Sorrow 
and  indignation  filled  their  breasts;  and  in 
profound  silence  they  wended  their  way  along 
the  banks  of  the  river. 

«  Hark  !  What  is  that  ?"  Rasinski  said  to 
Boleslaus,  who  rode  by  his  side.  "  There  is 
some  noise  over  the  river.  It  was  like  some 
one  throwing  himself  into  the  water.  Halt !" 
"  True  enough,  there  is  somebody  swim- 
ming," said  Boleslaus  in  a  low  voice ;  "  shall 
we  hail  him  V 

"  Wait  a  little,  until  we  can  have  a  clearer 
view.  We  don't  know  yet.  We  are  close 
upon  the  fortress ;  but  hark ! — ^there  are  two 
swimmers !"  "  Who  goes  there  ?  Halt ! 
Give  the  countersign !" 

"  Good  friend,"  replied  Petrowski,  and  all 
burst  out  into  a  shout  of  joy.  In  two  min- 
utes the  missing  braves  were  on  shore. 

"No  nonsense!"  cried  Bliski  jokingly, 
pushing  back  some  of  his  comrades ;  "  we  are 
all  mud  and  water  from  head  to  foot.  By 
the  gods,  it  was  rather  a  cold  bath !" 

"  Where's  your  horse  ?  speak !"  said  Rasin- 
ski. 
"  Bliski  saved  me !"  began  Petrowski. 
"  Pshaw !  let  me  tell  the  tale,"  interrupted 
the  merry  Bliski.     "  His  horse  stumbled  and 
fell  as  we  were  riding  back  to  the  castle; 
three  of  tbo'se  Russian  rascals  rushed  upon 
him  and  wjuited  to  plunder  him.   Fortunately 
I  saw  it  and  jumped  forward.    Qne  of  the 
dogs  then  struck  my  horse  a  blow  on  the 
nose  with  a  bludgeon,  so  that  he  reared  fjiri- 
ously  and  threw  me  down  on  the  sand.     All 
the  better  for  that,  thou^t  I,  as  I  quickly 
jumped  to   my  feet.     The  rascals  had  not 
spirit  enough  to  stand  against  two  of  us, 
but  like  the  horses,  ran  oif.     We  tried  to 
reach  the  castle  on  foot  in  the  hope  that  our 
horses  might  have  followed  the  track  of  the 
others.     But  the  people  flying  from  the  vil- 
lage intercepted  our  way.     We  had  to  go 
back  into  the  forest,  and  cruised  about  there 
for  some  time,  the  burning  nouses  of  Smolen- 
sko  being  our  guide.     Suddenly  we  came  to  a 
wide  road,  which  i  immediately  recognised  as 
the  highway  to  Moscow,  for  I  have  long  been 
in  Russia  and  am  well  acquainted  with  the 
country.     Just  as  we  were  about  leaving  the 
wood,  Corporal  Petrowski,  luckily  saw  a  troop 
of  horsemen  approaching.     We  quick\y  lay 
down   among    the  bushes    silent   as  sleep. 
Hardly  had  the  horsemen  passed  when  we 
heard  the  rumbling  of  artillery.     There  were 
at  least  a  nundred  pieces  of  cannon  and  am- 
munition carts,  besides  a  gi-eat  number  of 
other  wagons.     Then  came  infantry — in  long 
closed  lines,  then  again  cavalr}' — in  short,  a 
whole  corps  were  passing  bv  us  for  over  an 
hour.    Finally  the  field  agam-  became  clear, 


we  arose  and  looked  around  ;  for  some  time 
we  followed  the  road,  then  turned  to  the  left 
and  luckily  reached  the  river."  . 

'Although  Rasinski  was  highly  pleased  to 
see  his  men  safe,  yet  Bliski's  narrative  had 
awakened  his  thoughts  to  another  point 
His  suspicion  that  part  of  the  garrison  if  not 
the  whole  had  left  the  fortress,  had  now  be-  ^ 
come  almost  a  certainty.  He  resolved  there- 
fore to  attempt  entering  the  town  By  the 
water-gate  which  was  accessible  for  cavalry, 
and  there  perhaps  be  the  first  to  enter  the 
place.  He  commanded  all  to  preserve  silence 
and  to  keep  close  to  the  margin  of  tiie  river. 
Thus  he  reached  the  first  houses,  without 
having  encountered  even  a  sentinel.  The  day 
was  just  beginningto  dawn  when  he  entered 
the  streets.  No  sound,  no  trace  indicated  that 
a  human  beingf  yet  linofered  amongr  the  half- 
ruined  heap  of  stones.  On  turning  into  a  cross- 
street,  Rasinski  with  surprise  saw  cavalry  ap- 
proaching to  meet  him.  They  belonged  to 
Prince  Poniatowski's  division ;  in  happy  state 
of  feeling  greetings  were  interchanged,  and 
both  parties  continued  their  way.  Rasinski 
rode  close  to  the  main  wall.  Suddenly  he  de^ 
tected  a  man  cautiously  creeping  along  in  the 
obscurity.  He  thought  it  was  a  Russian,  and 
called  out  to  him  in  that  language,  but  he  did 
not  reply,  and  tried  to  escape.  In  the  hop* 
that  the  man  might  perhaps  inform  him 
whether  there  were  still  soldiers  in  the  fortress, 
Rasinski  and  some  lancers  set  out  in  pursuit 
and  soon  overtaking  him,  they  surrounded 
him  in  such  a  manner  that  he  could  not  escape. 
"  Vive  VEmpereur .'"  cried  the  brave  soldier, 
levelling  his  musket  at  Rasinski.  He  then  first 
recognised  the  French  uniform,  and  was  soon 
on  friendly  terms  with  the  man  whom  he  had 
taken  for  an  enemy.  He  was  a  corporal  be- 
longing to  Marshal  Davoust's  corps,  who  had 
ventured  on  the  desperate  attempt  of  scaling 
the  wall  and  entering  the  fortress  alone.  Thus 
the"  glory  of  having  first  entered  the  place 
became  pretty  dubious.  The  principal  ob- 
ject was  gained,  however — ^they  were  within 
the  walls. 

Very  soon  after  they  convinced  them- 
selves that  the  Russians  had  left  the 
town,  and  that,  after  destroying  the  bridges, 
they  had  retreated  across  the  river,  probably  ' 
still  occupying  part  of  the  town  situated  on 
the  other  side. 

The  sun  rose ;  his  rays  fell  upon  a  terrible 
scene.  Smoking  ruins  spread  in  every  direc^ 
tion.  Heaps  of  corpses,  bleeding  and  scorched, 
lay  everywhere  about.  Some" were  seen  stif- 
fened and  blackened  by  smoke  and  lire  scat^ 
tered  over  the  smouldering  ruins.  Portions 
of  the  bodies  were  entirely  stripped  of 
flesh ;  only  the  naked,  calcined  bones  stared 
the  gazer  in  the  face.  Rasinski  commanded 
a  halt  so  as  to  avoid  uselessly  choking  up 


i.diiL 


I  i 

142 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWfilVE';  OR, 


1^  imrrow  streets  already  encumbered  with 
ruins  and  heaps  of  bones,  stones  and  ashes, 
while  himself  and  Jaromir  rode  on  to  the  for- 
tress to  gain  a  nearer  view  of  the  scene  of 
destruction. 

"  A  sad  victory,"  he  said  to  Jaromir ;  "  it 
seems  iiardly  worth  while  to  employ  such 
'  immense  forces  for  the  subjugation  of  a 
country  where  instead  of  towns  and  villages 
one  finds  nothing  but  the  ashes.  Even  the 
spirited,  thoughtless  Jaromir,  thougii  accus- 
tomed to  the  terrors  of  war,  felt  a  shudder 
creeping  over  him  as  he  rode  through  this 
chaos  of  ashes  and  corpses.  "  Very  possibly," 
he  replied  to  Rasinski's  observation ;  "  and  it 
is  still  more  incoinprehensible  to  me  how 
this  devastated  land  is  to  nourish  the  vast 
masses  which  overflow  it." 

"  The  wolf  will  have  to  fly  to  Poland  or 
Prussia,"  observed  Rasinski,  frightened  him- 
self at  the  half-jeering  tone  of  his  voice,  "  for 
here  he  must  starve. — Hark  !    Music !" 

The  French  guards  were  just  entering  the 
town,  the  band  striking  up  one  of  that  nation's 
favorite  airs.  The  merry  sound  in  that  hour 
and  place  seemed  like  the  bitterest  mocking. 
Rasinski  backed  his  horse  into  an  adjoining 
street  to  let  the  troops  pass.  The  musicians 
played  the  Marseillaise  hymn,  the  fiery  strains 
of  which  always  kindle  the  highest  enthusi- 
asm in  every  French  heart,  and  call  the 
gleam  of  courage  into  every  eye.  But  at 
this  time  they  spoke  in  an  unknown  tongue 
to  the  experienced  warriors.  Deep  earnest 
was  expressed  in  their  features ;  the  eye  was 
firmly  fixed  upon  the  destruction  around 
them,  and  the  eyebrows  contracted  with  a 
vexed  disappointment." 

No  trace  of  despondency  could  be  traced 
on  the  rough,  sunburnt  faces  of  the  warriors, 
neither  did  a  ray  of  joy  appear  in  their  faces, 
decorated  as  they  were  with  broad  scars,  but 
with  proudly  erect,  but  gloomily  furrowed 
brow  they  marched  on  over  the  corpses,  bones 
and  glowing  ashes — resembling  an  approach- 
ing thunderstorm  in  their  mute,  iron-like  in- 
flexibility and  power. 

And  now  came  the  Emperor  on  his  white 
Arabian  charger.  His  scrutinizing  eye  pene- 
trated everywhere,  witliout  however  stopping 
his  animated  conversation  with  Count  Lobau, 
who  rode  at  his  side. 

"  The  Emperor  looks  just  as  on  the  parade 
at  Dresden,"  observed  Jaromir  in  a  low  voice, 
but  yet  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  That  is  his  manner,"  replied  Rasinski ; 
"  always  the  same  in  storm  or  sunshine.  But 
let  us  follow ;  I  long  to  know  what  will  be 
his  next  movement.  Perhaps  he  may  throw 
business  enough  on  our  hands." 

With  these  words  he  and  Jaromir  dashed 
across  the  smoking  ruins  past  the  lines  of  the 
marching  troops,  to  joui  the  general's  staff, 


with  which  the  Emperor  was  insi^cting'  ^ 
fortress. 


«  ♦;. 


If'- 


CHAPTER  XLVn.    '  ' 

"Hang  me  if  I'm  not  tired  of  this  life," 
said  Bernard,  throwing  a  heavy  bag  from  his 
shoulder,  while  Louis  assisted  him.*  "For 
myself,  I  would  never  have  travelled  the 
weary  and  dangerous  road  into  the  robber 
den  of  these  Mougiks,  but  my  poor  emaciated 
roan  must  at  least  for  once  have  something 
better  than  green  oats  and  stubble." 

"  Thou  hast  been  fortunate,"  replied  Louis; 
"  we  did  not  find  even  that.  Everything  is 
desolate  and  waste — all  the  villages  burnt  and 
abandoned.  I  should  like  to  know  what  will 
be  the  end  of  all  this  ?" 

'<  Never  mind.  It  is  true  jve  are  embarked 
on  the  wild  ocean ;  but  we  have  a  Columbus 
on  board,  with  a  compass  that  will  guide  him 
for  a  long  time  to  come.  But  help  me  to  feed 
the  horses ;  I  cannot  possibly  let  the  poor 
animals  wait." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  Louis. 

*'  It  is  well,"  said  Bernard,  pouring  the  oats 
into  the  haversacks  and  hanging  them  before 
the  hungry  beasts ;  "  it  is  well  we  are  here  by 
ourselves,  and  have  at  least  this  old  bam  for 
a  stable,  in  this  rough  rainy  weather.  If  we 
were  in  the  open  field  we  would  have  as  many 
uniftvited  guests  as  there  are  flies  round  a  dish- 
ful of  cream.  Look  how  the  poor  devils  re- 
lish it !  Ah  !  my  good  fellows,  such  oats  are 
like  an  oyster  supper  to  you." 

While  both  were  eagerly  engaged  in  the 
pleasant  occupation,  Rasinski  entered  unob- 
served, on  his  way  back  from  head-quarters. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  "  you  feel  as 
rich  and  fine  as  if  in  the  stubles  of  St.  Cloud. 
Where  did  you  find  this  treasure  ?" 

"  Good  morning,  colonel,"  said  both  the 
young  men,  wheeling  round. 

"  Good  feed  for  once,  sir  I"'  continued  Ber- 
nard. "  I  had  been  listening  to  the  dragoons  ; 
they  had  brought  in  some  oats  from  the  fo- 
rest over  there.  Aha !  thought  I,  there  nvay 
perhaps  be  a  few  more  of  t!ie  same  sort. 
Like  a  keen-scented  terrier  I  followed  ^he 
track  of  their  clumsy  boots,  and  soon  came 
to  a  village  which  eight  days  ago  might  have 
contained  a  dozen  houses,  but  now  musters 
only  a  dozen  scorched  chimnies.  On  one  of 
the  hearths  the  fire  had  gone  out  too  soon — 
one  half  of  the  hut  was  still  standing,  I 
crept  in  over  ashes  and  coals,  and  in  a  dark 
corner  I  found  this  bag,  which  the  dragoons 
either  had  overlooked  or  hidden  away." 

«  Smart  as  ever  I"  said  Rasinski  gaily,  but 


*<    NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSLA.  I- J 


wHh  a  troubled  expression,  at  which  both 
irrere  struck. 
•*  Lucky,  only  tolerably  lucky,"  replied  Ber- 

"  Louis,  for  you  I  have  a  letter,  and  impor- 
tant news  for  all  of  us.  To-morrow  we  shall 
at  last  have  a  battle." 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  Bernard,  with  a  joy- 
ful animation. 

"  At  last !"  said  Louis,  absorbed  by  the 
news  of  the  final  arrival  of  letters  from  home, 
which  for  weeks  he  had  been  expecting  in 
vain.  While  he  opened  them,  Rasinski 
slightly  touched  Bernard's  shoulder,  and 
•winked  to  him  as  he  glanced  at  Louis. 

Bernard  did  not  understand  what  he  meant, 
but  kept  silence  as^he  looked  at  Louis  atten- 
tively. The  latter  stood  reading  in  violent 
emotion :  he  turned  pale,  and  large  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks ;  he  covered  his  face  with 
one  hand,  with  the  other  handed  the  letter  to 
Bernard.  The  latter  seized  it  with  warmth, 
while  Rasinski  consolingly  laid  his  hand  upon 
Louis'  shoulde!-,  and  looked,  at  him  with  a 
heart-felt  sympathy. 

"My  mother — my  mother!    Read  your- 
self!" was  all  that  Louis  found  strength  to 
■  utter,  as  he  tendered  the  letter  to  Bernard. 

"  I  kn6w  it  already,"  said  Rasinski ;  "  I 
knew  it  ffom  my  sister  who  sent  your  letter 
enclosed." 

For  some  time  all  three  stood  absorbed  in 
gloomy  reflection.  Bernard  first  broke  the 
silence. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  he,  "  over  to  the  huts 
where  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  are  in  quarters ; 
on  the  eve  of  battle,  we  must  at  least  have 
one  more  meeting.  But  is  it  to  be  a  battle 
in  earnest  ?" 

Rasinski  shook  off  his  gloomy  reveiie  and 
replied  :  "  In  earnest  1  Yes,  as  surely  as  the 
heavy  stroke  which  has  smitten  our  friend ! " 
He  passed  his  hand  twice  across  his  brow, 
painfully,  as  he  added :  "  Kutosow  will  fight 
to-morrow — there  is  no  doubt  of  it.  The 
Emperor  has  already  reconnoitred  the  battle- 
ground. Yesterday  was  but  the  prelude. 
The  seventh  of  September  is  destined  to  be 
distinguislied  in  the  records  of  history." 

"  It  will  be  a  red-letter-day  in  the  almanac 
then,  and  blood-red  too,  I  think,"  replied  Ber- 


atttomn,  the  birch  and  beech  trees  were  al- 
ready scattering  their  leaves  upon  the  ixat, 
every  green  thing  hid  withered  and  changed  " 
its  attire;  the  heavens  hung  colorless  in 
leaden  dulness  above  the  fields,  chilling  gusts 
of  wind  now  and  then  whistled  through  the 
denuded  branches,  and  the  atmosphere  felt 
thick  and  humid. 

While  they  gazed  upon  this  moving  plat- 
form Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  came  up.  Rasin^ 
ski  had  informed  them  of  the  death  of  Louis' 
mother,  as  contained  in  the  letter.  With  much 
sympathy  they  approached  to  evince  their  af- 
fection towards  their  mutual  friend.  The 
youthful  Jaromir  did  not  repress  a  tear.  Bo- 
leslaus manifested  his  feeling  in  silence. 

They  went  down  the  hill  together  to  lay 
themselves  down  by  the  watch-fire  before 
Rasinski's  hut,  in  which  the  latter  had  or- 
dered all  his  officers  to  assemble,  it  being  the 
custom  to  pass  the  evening  preceding  a  battle 
in  company  together. 

The  sun  had  set ;  since  noon  the  orb  had 
been  hidden  behind  dense  and  black  clouds. 
The  night  air  blew  very  sharp,  so  that  even 
with  the  fire  and  their  heavy  cloaks,  those 
(Seeking  repose  were  unable  entirely  to  ex- 
clude the  chilling  blast.  The  whole  day  had 
passed  in  a  gloomy,  death-like  silence,  as  if  in 
tacit  forecast,  by  both  armies,  of  a  desperate 
fight.     Thus  also  passed  this  night. 

The  grey  of  dawn  already  began  to  appear 
when  the  sudden  report  of  cannon  from  the 
enemy's  lines  interrupted  the  torpor  and  si- 
lence without  and  within.     All  sprang  up, 
questioning  and  listening.     At  such  an  hour, 
and  un^er  such  circumstances  as  the  present, 
the  firing  of  a  gun  is  invariably  the  signal  of 
some  important  event ;  every  one  looked  to 
being  prepared  for  whatever  was  to  follow. 
But  this  time  the  expectation  was  foiled.    It 
was  ascertained  in  a  few  minutes  that  the 
shot  had  been  fired  upon  a  group  of  horse- 
tten  composing  Napoleon's  suite.     The  Em- 
peror, driven  by  impatience  and  fear  that  the 
Russian  army  might  again  by  a  silent  retreat 
during  the  night  destroy  his  hopes  qf  a  bat- 
tle, had  mounted  his  horse,  and  under  co- 
ver of  the  dawn  proceeded  once  more  to  ex- 
amine the  exact  position  of  the  enemy.     To 
his  great  joy  he  was  reassured  that  the'  day  of 


nard.    "  Well,  all  the  same  to  me :  the  greater  battle  had  arrived,  for  he  discovered  the  long . 


the  harvest  death  mows,  the  more  calmly  I 
will  look  on  it.  What  more  tiresome  than 
the  long  catalogue  of  deaths  in  a  great  em- 
pire summed  up  at  the  end  of  a  year  ?  No 
battle  is  so  murderous  as  a  year  in  the  quiet 
course  of  time."  Thus  saying,  the  two  friends, 
saluting  their  colonel,  left  the  spot. 

They  ascended  a  small  eminence  together, 
from  which  they,  overlooked  the  whole  field, 
now  covered  with  men  and  horses.  The  fo- 
liage had  already    assumed    the    hues    of 


lines  of  reser\'es  spread  over  the  field,  the  im- 
mense quantities  of  ammunition  and  wagons 
lining  the  road  coming  from  Moscow,  and  the 
formidable  fortifications  within  the  enemy's 
position. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  firing  of  this  soli- 
tary shot  the  proclalnation  of  the  Emperor 
was  issued.  Rasinski  received  it  by  the  hands 
of  an  aid.  He  immediately  assembled  his 
men  around  him,  and  by  the  smouldering 
blaze  of  the  camp  fire  he  read  as  follows : — 


';r'-.*7^-^i»r-y 


144 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDBED  A|fD  imEVfB  ;^B, 


*  Soldiers ! — ^Thc  day  of  battle  you  have 
80  long  wished  for  has  arrived !  Victory  is 
in  yopr  hands.  It  is  necessary  to  ua^  It  will 
secure  to  you  abundance,  safe  winter  quarters, 
and  a  speedy  return  to  your  homes.  Behave 
yourselves  as  at  Austerlitz,  at  Fnedland,  at 
Witepsk,  at  Smolensko  ;  so  that  your  remo- 
test descendants  may  with  pride  say  of  their 
ancestors : '  He  fought  in  the  great  battle  un- 
Her  the  walls  of  the  Moskwa !'  " 

These  brief  sentences  sanlcdeep  and  stir- 
ring into  the  hearts  of  the  warriors.  An  ex- 
alted enthusiasm  flashed  from  every  eye ;  and 
when  Rasinski  drew  his  sabre  and  raising  ijt 
high  in  the  air  exclaimed, "  Vive  T  Empereur .'" 
the  cry  of  inspiration  burst  forth  from  a  thou- 
sand tongues,  re-echoing  loudly  through  the 
air,  even  into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.. 

The  ex*igencies  of  the  coming  day  demand-, 
ed  great  exertion ;  Rasinski  therefore  or- 
dered his  warriors  to  court  repose,  that  the 
day  might  find  them  fresh  and  invigorated. 
To  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  officers,  and 
especially  to  divert  Louis,  he  proposed  an  ex- 
cursion through  the  encampment  of  the 
guards  towards  the  imperial  tent,  erected  not 
far  from  the  bivouac  of  the  cavalry. 

They  soon  reached  the  large  quadrangle 
which  the  guards  for  more  ettectual,  security 
had  formed  around  the  Emperor's  lodgment. 
The  sight  of  tliese  picked  and  well-approved 
warriors,  among  wliom  scarcely  a  brow  was 
seen  without  bearing  honorable  scars,  or  a 
breast  without  the  insignia  of  honor  and 
bravery,  was  calculated  to  inspire  an  ambitious 
mind  with  an  ennobling  self-confidence. 
Even  Louis  became  erect  and  attentive,  des- 
pite his  melancholy,  as  he  passed  along  ihe 
lines  of  these  heroes.  Bernard,  more  excit- 
able, felt  quite  transported. 

"  A  whole  gallery  of  originals !"  he  ex- 
claimed, turning  to  his  friends ;  "  I  could  find 
sketching  here  for  ten  years  to  come.  What 
a  study  of  heads !  Look  only  at  that  grena* 
dier  cleaning  his  gun  !  With  what  earnest 
does  he  examine  his  weapon ! — it  is  seen  in 
every  lineament  of  his  countenance;  he  re- 
gards it  as  a  sacred  companion.  Look  how 
he  catches  the  reflexion  of  the  fire,  and  con- 
templates himself  in  the  polished  barrel,  as  if 
it  were  a  looking-glass !  The  old  boy  may 
^well  look  at  himself.  He  must  be  pleased 
with  that  broad  scar  parting  his  eyebrows. 
Now  he  has  finished  his  task ;  he  gives  a  few 
grips  and  takes  aim.  In  imagination  he  has 
his  man  marked  already.  Look  too  at  that 
bewhiskered  serjeant  there  dressing  his  bleed- 
ing forehead  I  Plow  indifferent  he  acts !  That 
brow  of  liis  must  be  used  to  scars !  It  is 
covered  with  hieroglyphics,  probably  en- 
graved bv  some  I\Iameluke  sword  at  the  pyr- 
amids. That  forehead  of  thine  is  no  less 
than  an  album  I    Whoever  has  left  his  con- 


tribution there  vdll  no  doubt  dwell  inlfy  £»• " 
mory,  though  hardly  in  the  charactM*  <^» 
friend.  See  that  fellow  yonder  shaving  him- 
self, and  as  careful  and  smooth  as  if  he  war© 
going  to  a  Sunday's  pic-nic  at  the'Barriere 
de  Neuilly  or  the  gay  wine-shops  of  SL 
Denis,  where  grisettes  are  so  plenty.  I  believe 
this  fellow  does  not  know  any  d^erence  be- 
tween figuring  in  a  francaise  with  his  sweet- 
heart and  storming  a  battery  in  the  front  rank 
of  his  regiment  He  has  musk;  at  bpth  fro- 
lics. I  will  bet  that  he  feels  certain  of  enter- 
ing Moscow  to-morrow.  His  whole  physi- 
ognomy is  an  exclamation  of  '  Vive  la  beunh 
telle  /'  though  he  appears  old  enough  to  tell  a. 
tale  about  Marengo  and  the  bridge  <rf  Arcole. 
Success  to  thee,  honest  friend ! — ^be  to-mor- 
row as  merry  as  thou  art  to-day,  and  go  to 
thy  supper  humming  tlie  carmagnole  just  aa 
much  void  of  care  as  thou  art  now." 

"  But  I  have  seen  these  same  warriors  in 
quite  a  different  humor,"  replied  Rasinski ; 
"  however  animated  the  camp  may  appear  to 
the  novice  who  examines  it  for  the  first  time, 
those  acquainted  with  it  for  years  look  upon 
it  with  wholly  differeht  optics.  You  may 
read  resolution — fortitude  to  meet  even  the 
worst  in  the  faces  of  these  men ;  but  you  find  • 
no  longer  that  buoyant  confidence,  that  burn- 
ing desire  for  conflict  and  victory  which  for- 
merly illumined  their  faces  on  the  eve  of 
battle.  Look,  there  is  the  tent  of  the  Empe- 
ror. What  can  be  %.e  cause  of  this  crowd 
pressing  towards  it?" 

Soldiers  were  seen  hastening  in  great 
crowds  towards  the  tent  and  gathering  around 
it  in  a  mass.  Those  returning  looked  joyous 
and  conversed  with  much  animation..  Ex- 
clamations of  glad  surprise  fescaped  from  the 
dense  crowd. 

"  What  is  the  matter  thtfre  ?"  asked  Rasin- 
ski of  a  grenadier  coming  back. 

"  The  matter,  my  colonel  ?  Something 
very  beautiful  and  pleasant!  A  child,  a 
charming  child!  The  son  of  the  Emperor! 
Yes,  my  colonel,  it  is  a  beautiful  picture !  I 
am  also  a  father.  I  have  a  son  only  eight 
day^s  older.  I  cannot  have  his  portrait  sent 
after  me,  but  I  have  it  in  my  heart.  The 
rogue  sits  here,  (pointing  to  his  breast,  which 
was  decorated  with  the  cross  of  the  legion 
of  honor,)  so  faithfully  counterfeited  that  I 
would  no  other.  Only  go,  my  colonel,  and 
see  it  yourself!" 

The  soldier,  garrulous  from  joy,  was  forced 
aside  by  the  living  stream.  Rasinski  and  his 
companions  forced  their  way  towards  the  tent 
The  crowd  was  very  great.  All  they  could" 
make  out  from  the  djstauee  was,  that  close 
by  the  Emperor's  tent,  and  under  the  giiar- 
dianship  of  two  bearded  grenadiers,  there  was 
a  portrait  of  the  Kmg  of  Rome  exposed  to 
the  view  of  the  army. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


Mi 


"There  is  to  me  something  very  touching 
in  this,"  said  Louis  to  Bernard ;  "  that  in  the 
midst  of  warlike  preparations,  not  only  the 
chieftain  but  also  the  loving  father  appears, 
and  that  he  thus  lets  his  braves  participate  in 
his  joys." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Rasinski,  smiling,  "  he 
possesses  great  insight  into  human  nature. 
He  could  not  remind  his  bearded  heroes  in 
any  better  way  of  the  happiness  of  home 
than  by  such  a  reminiscence.  Now  every 
heart  beats  for  the  fatherland — ^for  la  belle 
France — where  are  left  behind,  by  one  his 
children,  by  another  his  young  wife,  who  per- 
haps meanwhile  has  become  a  mother,  by  a 
third  his  merry  sweetheart.  There  is  no 
other  road  to  Paris  but  through  Moscow. 
That  they  know  well.  Like  enraged  lions 
they  will  fall  ppon  all  who  would  obstruct 
their  passage." 

"I  should  think,"  observed  Louis,  "that 
just  such  reminiscences  would  tend  to  sadden 
their  hearts  and  make  them  hate  a  war  which 
forces  them  far  away  from  all  that  is  dear." 

"  Justly,"  replied  Rasinski,  "  except  on  the 
eve  of  a  battle.  Fatigue  the  soldier  endures 
with  difficulty — danger  he  meets  cheerfully — 
he  would  rather  venture  than  suffer.  The 
time  of  toil  is  now  over ;  now  comes  a  brief 
interval  of  danger:  this  he  goes  to  meet 
gladly ;  for  he  entertains  more  hope  of  gain 
than  fear  of  loss  by  it.  Show  him  only  vic- 
tory as  a  sure  prize,  and  he- would  not  hesi- 
tate to  storm  hell  itself!  But  it  must  be 
made  sure  to  him.  His  articles  of  faith  are  : 
victory,  peace,  and  a  speedy  return  home. 
Excite  his  feelings  by  holding  out  the  last, 
and  you  need  not  fear  for  the  two  first." 

"  Good  evening,  count !"  said  a  welcome 
voice — -Colonel  Regnard's.  "  It  is  pleasant 
to  meet  a  friend  once  more  to-day.  To-mor- 
row vain  inquiries  will  be  made  after  many. 
I  think  the  battle  will  do  honor  to  the  dispo- 
sitions taken.  One  does  not  march  eight 
hundred  leagues  for  the  sake  of  an  affair  of 
outposts." 

"  Till  now  we  have  not  had  much  of  any- 
thing else,"  replied  Rasinski. 

"  Every  kind  of  fruit  must  have  time  to  be- 
come ripe,  count.  In  Russia  the  harvest 
comes  later  than  with  us.  Mark  me,  to-mor- 
row the  scythes  will  be  busy.  The  Russians 
are  this  time  in  terrible  earnest." 

"  Is  there  any  sure  information  of  it  here  ?" 

"  There  is  no  longer  a  doubt.  I  have  just 
heard  the  report  of  a  deserter.  Old  Kuto- 
80W,  assured  of  our  intention  to  attack  him, 
resolves  to  stand  his  ground  like  a  man.  And 
with  reason  ;  for  the  Russians  are  prepared 
for  a  decisive  struggle,  and  have  deliberately 
devoted  themselves  to  death  or  our  over- 
tlirow.  Did  you  hear  in  their  camp  those 
strange  strains  of  music,  or  observe  their 

10 


movements  when  they  were  paraded  under 

arms  ?" 

"  I  did ;  and  what  does  it  mean  ?" 

"It  was  the  oration  preparatory  to  the 
wedding  which  we  are  to  celebrate.  The  old 
prince,  accompanied  by  the  priests  and  arche- 
mandrites,  went  in  procession  through  the 
camp.  They  carried  a  sacred  image, which  they 
have  saved  from  Smolensk©,  through  the  lines 
of  the  army.  The  Russian  worships  this  as 
a  miraculous  and  protecting  relic.  His  reli- 
gion fills  him  with  fanatical  courage.  His 
priests  have  consecrated  him  for  the  battle  : 
whoever  falls  is  secure  of  bliss  in  another 
world.  They  have  been  told : — *■  You  fight 
to-morrow  for  the  altars  of  your  God ;  you 
must  protect  your  holy  city  of  the  Moskwa, 
which  the  enemy  otherwise  will  destroy — 
you  must  save  your  wives,  daughters,  and 
sisters  from  dishonor  and  bondage.'  Such 
words  take  effect.  The  Russian  longs  now 
for  the  martyrdom  of  falling  before  our  balls. 
J  have  read  the  proclamation  also,  but  it  is 
not  exactly  flattering  to  us.  I  assure  you  it 
would  be  difficult  to  excite  the  fury  of  a  bull- 
dog to  a  degree  equal  with  that  which  old 
one-eyed  Kutosow  has  inspired  in  his  soldiers. 
To  me  the  affair  looks  infernally  serious. 
To-morrow,  depend  upon  it,  w^e  shall  find  the 
enemy  on  his  own  ground,  and  perhaps  after 
to-morrow  loo.  An  iron  wall  is  not  so  easily 
overthrown.  Fanatics  are  tougher  than  iron." 

"  What !  You  have  doubts  about  our  vic- 
tory, Regnard  ?"  exclaimed  Rasinski. 

"  Not  at  all !  But  it  will  be  a  bloody  one. 
By  to-morrow  night,  twenty  or  thirty  tliou- 
sand  men  will  probably  bite  the  dust,  and  lay 
side  by  side  as  peacefully  as  they  have,  dur- 
ing the  day,  furiously  assailed  each  other. 
Peradventure  we  be  among  the  number,  co- 
lonel, let  us  here  bid  each  other  farewell, 
for  I  must  back  to  my  corps."  He  extended 
his  hand  to  Rasinski,  who  shook  it  cordially. 

"  Farewell,  gentlemen !"  Regnard  said, 
turning  to  the  others.  "  I  hope  we  shall  see 
each  other  again  on  the  field  or  in  Moscow." 

With  these  words  he  disappeared  in  the 
crowd.  Hardly  was  he  gone  when  Petrow- 
ski  quickly  approached  and  handed  Rasinski 
a  sealed  despatch. 

"  We  must  get  back,"  he  s;iid,  after  having 
read  it.  "  There  are  many  dispositions  to  be 
made  during  the  night.  Come,  friends,  there 
is  no  time  to  lose." 

They  again  reached  their  encampment. 
Rasinski  ordered  the  fires  to  be  extinguished 
and  the  men  under  arms.  An  adjutant  soon 
afterwards  brought  an  order  to  march.  Tho 
regiment  set  itself  in  motion.  While  riding 
it  was  observed  that  all  the  fires  of  the  French 
had  been  put  out,  or  only  emitted  a  few  fiiint 
sparks.  In  the  Russian  camp,  on  the  con- 
trary, they  were  burning  high  and   bright, 


146 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


creating  a  widely-spreading  and  starry  amphi- 
theatre along  the  dusky  horizon. 

The  march  was  a  short  one,  and  in  direc- 
tion of  the  centre  of  the  army. 

"  Halt !"  cried  Rasinski,  as  tliey  reached  the 
broad  base  of  a  Iiill.  To  the  right  the  ground 
was  covered  with  bushes  which  farther  down 
merged  into  the  forest.  Heavy  masses  of 
cavalry  seemed  to  be  collected  here.  About 
eleven  o'clock  they  had  taken  ^  final  position. 
Rasinski  ordered  his  men  to  dismount  with- 
out unsaddling  their  horses.  The  men  took 
up  their  couches  on  the  ground.  Mute,  eager 
expectation  quickened  the  pulsation  of  every 
heart.  Sleep  came  reluctantly  and  late ;  but 
finally,  bodily  exhaustion  overpowered  men- 
tal excitement,  and  notwithstanding  the  chill 
autumnal  night,  the  hardy  warriors  were  soon 
buried  in  the  profoundest  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

And  now  da-\vned  the  eventful  morning  of 
battle.  The  sky  was  clear.  Here  and  there 
the  early  mist  rested  on  the  deep  sunken  bed 
of  the  Kalotscha  and  a  few  other  rivulets  in- 
tersecting the  field,  but  the  fresh  morning 
breeze  quickly  dispersed  it. 

The  sun  rose  behind  the  sombre  tops  of 
the  pine  forest,  and  threw  his  dazzling  beams 
over  the  field  where  the  masses  of  the  French 
army  were  already  drawing  up  in  array.  The 
interminable  lines  of  bjiyonets  glittered  in 
bloody  red,  the  gilt  eagles  gleamed  brightly, 
and  the  full  counterpart  of  the  sup  was  re- 
flected from  the  burnished  armor  of  the  cui- 
rassiers. 

"  It  is  the  sun  of  Austerlitz  I"  cried  the  em- 
peror, who,  having  taken  his  station  on  a  hill 
on  the  left  flank  of  the  cavalry,  and  close  by 
a  redoubt  stormed  two  days  before,  pointed 
with  his  finger  at  the  blazing  orb. 

Rasinski  and  several  other  commanders 
liad  rode  up  the  hill,  in  order  better  to  over- 
look the  battle-field.  He  had  halted  so  near 
that  he  could  hear  the  Emperor's  ^vords.  The 
generals  to  wlioni  they  were  addressed  made 
no  reply. 

Louis  and  Bernanl,  who  had  followed  R:x- 
sinski,  halted  close  behind  their  chief.  They 
too  heard  the  loud  exclamation  of  tlie  Em- 
peror. 

The  batteries,  which,  during  the  night,  had 
taken  up  a  position  too  ftir  removed  from  the 
fortifications  of  the  Russians,  were  now  seen 
advancing  to  occupy  the  more  proximate  hills. 
The  enon)v  did  not  take  adv.mtage  of  this  fa- 
vorable moment.  It  seemed  iis  if,  in  this  war, 
where  he  had  ever  acted  only  on  the  defen- 


sive, he  did  not  wish  to  be  the  first  to  shed 
blood  even  on  a  battle-field  of  his  own  choice, 
but  would  rather  even  now  leave  it  to  the 
option  of  the  aggressor. 

Suddenly  the  deep  roar  of  artillery  is  heard 
on  the  left.  Smoke  and  dust  are  seen  rising 
near  the  village  of  Borodino.  The  solemn 
silence  is  broken — ^the  black  magic  veil  of  fate 
is  torn — the  lightning  descends  with  destruc- 
tive energy. 

The  hand  of  destiny  lets  loose  the  iron 
wheel  of  its  decrees.  It  rolls  onward  in  ruin- 
ous grandeur,  crushing  whom  it  may.  No 
power  can  now  grasp  its  spokes  and  check 
its  progress. 

The  Emperor's  orders  fly  through  the  field. 
Instantly  every  hill  belches  forth  its  thunders. 
Smoke  and  flames  burst  from  their  summits. 
The  castle  shakes ;  the  air  vibrates  with  the 
terrible  concussion.  Like  a  river  of  hell 
breaking  through  its  banks  the  black  stream 
of  smoke  rolls  across  the  expanse.  The 
bloody  orb  of  the  sun  can  hardly  pierce 
through  these  floating  darknesses. 

The  battle  now  extended  over  the  whole 
plain.  Not  far  to  the  right  of  the  spot  where 
Rasinski  halted  beyond  the  reach  of  the  guns, 
were  three  of  the  enemy's  redoubts,  which 
from  their  yawning  jaws  vomited  their  iron 
messengers  of  death  among  the  advancing 
troops. 

"  M.arshal  Davoust  will  lose  many  of  his 
men,"  said  Rasinski,  as  he  observed  that  ge- 
neral's columns  deploying  on  the  plain  to 
storm  the  terrible  redoubts. 

Firm,  compact,  and  in  double-quick  time 
these  masses,  which  through  severe  discipline 
had  become  as  one  body,  advanced  upon  the 
intrenched  enemy.  Thirty  pieces  of  artillery 
accompanied  them.  They  became  so  enve- 
loped in  dust  and  smoke  that  nothing  could 
be  seen  of  them. 

With  an  eagle  glance  Rasinski  scanned  the 
battle-field.  On  the  right  wing  Poniatowski 
had  also  commenced  the  attack.  He  de- 
bouched from  the  woods  which  covered  his 
position  and  repulsed  the  enemy's  left 
wing  with  decided  preponderance,  though 
slowly. 

From  the  fiery  volcano,  whicli  seemed  to 
have  swallowed  up  Davoust  and  his  division, 
an  adjutant  now  came  dashing  back  at  full  gal- 
lop. He  rode  straight  up  to  the  spot  where 
the  Emperor  stood — some  hundred  steps  in 
advance  of  his  first  one,  to  get  a  better  view 
of  the  field. 

Nothing  could  be  caught  of  the  report  of 
the  aid ;  but  immediately  afterwards  he  was 
seen  in  company  with  General  Rapp,  riding 
at  a  rapid  pace  into  the  thiekes-t  of  the  fray. 

In  order  to  inform  himself,  Rasinski  rode 
up  to  a  transport  of  wounded  ollicers  passing 
near  him. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


147 


«•  Well,  comrades,  how  goes  it  ?  You  are 
the  first  victims  ?" 

♦'  We  shall  not  be  the  last,"  answered  a 
captain,  his  broken  arm  hanging  loose  at  his 
side  ;  "  the  batteries  up  there  play  a  perfect 
deluge.  Greneral  Compans  has  fallen.  The 
marshal  is  wounded  ?" 

"Diivoustr  ' 

"Who  else?" 

«  The  battle  goes  hard,  then  1" 

"  It  will  be  easier  to  count  the  lining  than 
dead !" 

"  Thanks,  comrade — a  speedy  recovery ;" 
saying  which  Rasinski  rode  back. 

The  battle  had  now  become  general.  Mar- 
shal Ney  was  now  advancing  with  his  three 
divisions. 

A  wounded  general  was  now  brought  out 
of  the  conflict  It  was  Rapp,  who,  as  soon 
almost  as  he  got  within  fire,  was  struck  from 
his  horse  by  a  cartridge  ball.  On  this  day 
this  fearless  soldier  received  his  twenty-second 
wound.  Slowly  he  was  borne  up  the  hill 
where  the  Emperor  stood.  Ney's  divisions 
now  deployed  into  the  open  field.  Though 
galled  by  the  enemy's  destnictive  fire,  they 
advanced  steadily  towards  the  heights.  It 
seemed  as  if  something  decisive  might  come 
of  this  movement,  and  that  the  cavalry  might 
also  be  called  into  action.  Rasinski  therefore 
remained  close  by  his  regiment,  to  be  ready 
at  a  moment's  warning. 

The  King  of  Naples  rode  up.  His  aids 
were  flying  round  on  every  side.  He  collect- 
ed the  light  cavalr}'  to  attack  the  enemy  on 
the  heights.  Rasinski  received  orders  to  join 
him.  The  whole  mass  set  out  on  an  easy 
trot,  to  be  nearer  at  hand  in  the  decisive  mo- 
ment. Now  the  drums  of  the  infantry  beat 
the  attack.  They  flew  like  lightning  up  the 
heights.  The  thunder  of  the  artillery  re- 
doubled ; — ^the  whole  plain  was  a  sea  of 
smoke,  dust,  and  fire.  It  became  impossible 
to  notice  who  fell  or  who  ad\'anced.  Sud- 
denly the  thunder  of  the  artillery  became 
mute — a  loud  hurrah  resounded  through  the 
air — the  redoubts  had  been  carried  by  the  va- 
liant corps  of  Ney  and  Davoust. 

With  the  impetuosity  of  a  tempest  the  ca- 
valry, led  on  by  the  chivalrous  King  of  Na- 
ples, now  travei'sed  the  battle-field.  Dust 
and  stones  flew  up  high — the  ground  trem- 
bled under  the  shock  of  hoofs — the  horses 
snorted — the  dreadful  din  deafened  every  ear. . 
Bernard  threw  a  glance  at  Louis,  who  rode 
by  his  side.  It  was  returned.  Words  were 
no  longer  audible. 

The  heights  were  reached  in  a  few  min- 
utes. The  Russian  troops,  expelled  from 
their  batteries,  were  mostly  dispersed  in  the 
field  and  easily  forced  still  farther  back  by 
the  cavalry.  But  now  suddenly  the  renewed 
roar  of  artillery  was  heard ;  and  at  the  same 


moment  an  avalanche  of  balls  and  cartridgea 
burst  upon  the  lines  of  the  attackmg  forces. 
At  the  same  time  fresh  forces  were  seen  de- 
ploying in  black  masses  on  the  heights  skirt- 
ing the  destroyed  village  of  Semenowski, 
which  lay  right  before  them.  It  was  Prince 
Bagration,  who,  by  the  order  of  Kutosow, 
advanced  uith  fresh  troops  to  succor  the 
defeated  battalions.  The  heights  all  around 
were  lined  with  cannon,  and  from  almost 
every  point  their  murderous  contents  were 
showered  upon  the  advancing  columns.  Ra- 
sinski's  regiment  suddenly  seemed  to  become 
the  target  at  which  all  these  batteries  spon- 
taneously directed  their  aim ; — ^for  such  a 
quantity  of  balls  and  cartridges  were  hurled 
against  their  front  and  flaiik  that  in  a  few 
moments  the  greatest  carnage  and  confusion 
arose.  The  murderous  fire  opened  large 
gaps  in  the  ranks — horses  and  men  fell  pell- 
mell — ^the  loud  cries  of  the  wounded  and  dy- 
ing filled  the  air  and  tortured  the  ear.  It  was 
as  if  they  had  been  caught  by  a  sweeping 
hurricane,  from  the  manner  in  which  deatli 
rioted  in  their  lines. 

Rasinski  raised  his  sword  on  high,  and  with 
the  whole  strength  of  his  voice  shouted, 
"  Advance !"  The  intrepidity  of  their  leader 
infused  fresh  courage  into  the  wavering  sol- 
diers, and  they  advanced  to  a  desperate  at- 
tack. But  at  this  instant  a  hail-storm  of 
grape-shot  met  them,  so  dense  as  almost  to 
daiken  the  atmosphere.  Louis'  horse  was 
struck  by  a  ball.  The  animal  reared  almost 
perpendicularly,  made  a  side-long  plunge,  and 
threw  his  rider  to  a  considerable  distance. 
Bernard  saw  this,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
think  of  giving  assistance  ;  for  with  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  the  crowd  bore  him  onward 
over  the  fallen. 

Short  as  was  the  time,  the  dispersed  Rus- 
sian infantry  had  again  collected  and  advanced 
in  closer  column.  Death  broke  in  upon  the 
French  upon  every  side.  All  bonds  of  obedience 
and  order  were  quickly  severed.  The  officers 
were  lost  in  the  dust  and  smoke  or  shot 
down ; — no  word  of  command  could  be  heard 
— confusion  now  completely  gained  the  up- 
per hand. 

Two  squadrons  of  dragoons*that  had  ad- 
vanced farther,  shattered  by  the  terrible  fi.re 
of  grape  and  canister,  turned,  and  in  their 
flight  tumbled  among  those  of  Rasinski's 
men  who  still  remained.  By  this  shock  the 
Poles  were  partly  borne  away  with  the  re- 
treating stream — partly  scattered  asunder.  Iii 
a  few  minutes  the  whole  line  of  cavalry  was 
annihilated  or  in  flight. 

Among  the  rest,  Bernard  was  thrown  out 
of  line.  Confounded  by  the  overwhelmino- 
din  and  tumult,  he  looked  around  for  Rasin- 
ski, resolved  to  share  his  fate.  All  at  once 
he  perceived  some  Cossacks  coming  up,  and 


ifiaLl!. 


148 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


before  he  was  aware  they  had  nearly  surround- 
ed him.  He  quickly  turned  his  horse  round, 
and  then  discovered  the  King  of  Naples  in 
imminent  danger  of  capture.  He  flies  to  his 
assistance,  followed  by  others.  They  suc- 
ceed !  Murat  shakes  his  waving  heron  plume 
as  a  signal  A  cannon  ball  strikes  his  horse 
from  under  him ;  but  he  himself  is  unhurt. 
Resolved  to  die  gloriously  or  to  conquer,  he 
flings  himself  into  the  redoubt,  followed  by 
the  few  who  are  with  him.  Bernard,  spring- 
ing from  his  horse,  whose  gaping  wounds 
render  him  useless,  follows,  to  share  the  fate 
of  the  rest.  Two  hostile  regiments  of  cui- 
rassiers in  firmly  closed  ranks  now  come  ca- 
reering against  the  redoubt.  Those  within 
S've  themselves  up  for  lost,  when  Marshal 
ey  appears  with  his  rallied  infantry,  for  the 
second  time,  on  the  edge  of  the  hill.  The 
artillery  galloping  up  on  the  left,  with  their 
iron  throats  open  a  breach  in  the  moving  wall 
of  the  approaching  Russians;  the  infantry 
give  a  volley,  and  with  fixed  bayonets  follow 
up  the  shock.  The  enemy  pauses — wavers — 
his  lines  are  broken,  thinned  by  the  destruc- 
tive fire  of  artillery; — some  retreat,  influ- 
enced by  an  irresistible  panic  fear,  while  the 
more  resolute  are  hurried  away  in  the  tumult, 
and  the  next  moment  the  field  is  covered  with 
fugitives.  The  victors  press  forward  on 
every  side  ;  and  it  is  only  when  they  behold 
the  safety  of  their  commander  secured,  that 
they  stop,  breathless  and  spent,  with  their  ex- 
traordinaiy  exertions. 

Bernard:  took  advantage  of  the  first  practi- 
cable moment  to  look  after  the  wounded  left 
on  the  hill,  and  to  search  for  Louis.  Some 
field-otficers  who  had  fallen  on  the  blood- 
soaked  field  had  been  already  brought  in. 
There  was  no  time  to  bestow  much  attention 
on  others.  Although  incurring  the  greatest 
risk,  Bernard  dared  to  explore  the  space  which 
had  been  left  free  between  the  two  armies, 
and  where  the  fallen  of  his  regiment  must 
lie.  A  harrowing  sight  met  his  view  as  he 
passed  over  the  field  of  destruction.  The 
dead  did  not  so  much  awaken  his  sensibilities 
as  did  the  hopelessly  wounded,  calling  out  for 
help  in  their  tortures,  and  whose  misery  he 
was  unable  to  assuage.  Shuddering,  and  with 
averted  face,  he  passed  them.  They  stretched 
forth  their  mdtilated  bleeding  arms,  they 
called  to  him  in  heart-rending  tones.  Impos- 
dble  !  He  must  away.  Dead  men  and  horses 
impeded  his  every  step.  One  unfortunate 
wretch,  lying  on  the  ground  in  convulsions, 
seized  hold  of  him,  and  like  an  iron  fetter 
twined  his  arms  around  his  feet.  "  Help  me ! — 
save  me ! — let  me  not  perish  here !"  He 
groaned.  He  was  a  German.  Bernard  heard 
the  accents  of  his  fatherland !  Could  he  re- 
pulse a  countryman  ? — a  fellow-soldier,  who 
with  entreaties  embraced  his  knees,  who  was 


writhing  before  him,  his  frame  shockingly 
mutilated,  and  the  entrails  gushing  forth  from 
his  body  ?  Should  he  quench  the  last  glim- 
mering spark  of  hallowed  life  by  a  kick  from 
his  foot  ?  In  no  other  way  could  he  disen- 
gage himself  from  those  tight-clasping  arms ! 
Then  he  exclaimed,  "  Louis,  God  must  help 
thee ! — I  cannot !" 

With  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks  he 
stooped  down  to  the  miserable  man  to  take 
him  on  his  shoulders  and  carry  him  to  a  place 
of  safety ;  but  the  vics-like  grasp  with  which 
the  wounded  man  clung  to  him  at  once  began 
to  relax — the  arms  fell  back  unnerved— ^e 
uplifted  face  with  the  starting  eyes  sunk  to 
the  ground — ^the  terrible  agony  was  over — 
life  had  fled! 

A  chilling  shudder  crept  through  Bernard's 
frame.  He  stepped  tremblingly  back  and 
pressed  his  hands  to  his  eyes.  A  voice  at 
that  moment  suddenly  calls  out  his  name 
from  a  distance — a  note  as  from  the  regions 
of  the  blessed  strikes  his  ear.  He  looks  up 
— ^it  is  Louis  on  horseback,  who  comes  to  seek 
the  friend  whom  he  has  given. up  for  lost! 
With  winged  speech  he  approaches — ^they  are 
in  each  other's  arms — ^tears  of  joy  flow  from 
their  eyes !  But  there  was  no  time  to  tarry. 
The  roaring  torrent  of  battle  suffers  no  one 
to  dally  idly  on  its  billows ;  they  tear  every- 
thing along  with  them.  "Mount  quickly," 
cried  Louis.  The  next  instant  Bernard  is 
seated  behind  Louis,  and  they  hasten  to  the 
place  where  Rasinski  is  again  rallying  his 
men. 

Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  received  their 
friends  with  exultation. 

"  You  live  !  You  are  uninjured  !"  was  the 
mutual  salute.  Full  of  joy,  Rasinski  rode 
up. 

"  Bring  a  horse  here !"  he  cried,  and  im- 
mediately one  that  had  galloped  in  riderless 
from  the  field  was  placed  at  Bernard's  ser- 
vice. 

During  the  few  following  moments,  Louis 
recounted  that  after  falling  from  his  horee, 
though  somewhat  stunned,  he  soon  recovered. 
He  crawled  away  from  under  tlie  animal, 
caught  a  horse  running  loose,  and  again 
joined  the  regiments,  until  the  sudden  shock 
of  the  retreating  dragoons  had  swept  him 
back  along  with  the  rest. 

But  the  whirlwind  of  battle  has  once  more 
set  in.  By  order  of  the  King  of  Naples  the 
cavalry  regiments  are  again  brought  together, 
to  complete  the  overthrow  of  an  enemy 
already  shaken  and  riddled  by  the  heavy 
cannonade.  Rasinski  rejoins  the  chivalrous 
brigades,  commanded  by  Bruyeres  and  Nan- 
souty.  These  masses  charge  the  foe  and 
throw  him  back  upon  his  centre.  Innumera- 
ble corses,  the  sacrifice  of  success,  cover  the 
battle-field.    The  brows  of  the  hills  behind 


*     NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


149 


the  village  of  Semenowskoi  are  still  covered 
with  formidable  batteries,  each  piece  inces- 
santly disgorging  its  hail-storni  of  grape  and 
canister  into  the  valley.  Victory  balances 
and  sways  to  and  fro  like  the  stormy  waves 
of  the  deep.  Every  step  in  advance  is  pur- 
chased at  the  price  of  human  life.  Gore  and 
bleeding  corses  mark  the  path  of  retreat. 
Finally  the  infantry,  collecting  all  their  ener- 
gies, make  a  charge  up  the  steep  acclivities. 
The  enemy's  fire  is  silenced,  and  another 
interval  of  repose  ensues. 

Rasinski  halted  with  his  regiment  in  the 
hollow  of  a  ravine  sheltered  from  the  hostile 
fire,  while  the  infantry  transferred  the  fight 
to  a  region  impracticable  for  cavalry.  Grave 
and  silent,  he  rode  along  the  line,  calculating 
the  number  of  the  missing.  A  dark  cloud 
overspread  his  brow,  when  he  found  that  half 
his  men  only  had  been  left  unscathed  by  the 
deadly  fire.  Full  one-third  lay  among  the 
dead,  the  rest  wounded.  Yet  the  sun  was 
only  in  the  meridian,  and  the  bloodiest  work 
was  perhaps  still  to  come.  An  aid  of  the 
King  of  Naples  now  brought  him  an  order  to 
repair  to  the  left  wing,  and  with  his  regi- 
ment cover  the  artillery,  who  were  advanc- 
ing en  masse.  The  officer,  at  the  same  time, 
rode  with  him  to  the  top  of  the  nearest  hill, 
to  point  out  the  spot  assigned  to  him  by  this 
command. 

The  battle  had  now  extended  far  towards 
the  last  and  strongest  entrenchment  of  the 
enemy.  Kutosow  was  drawing  up  his  re- 
serves, to  commence  the  second,  act  of  the 
drama,  with  unabated  courage  and  obstinacy. 
To  defeat  this,  the  Emperor  now  ordered  the 
whole  line  of  his  artillery  to  advance  and 
break  up  these  concentrating  masses.  Ra- 
sinski followed  after  three  batteries  of  heavy 
artillery,  which  took  up  their  position  at  a 
somewhat  advanced  point — a  point  at  which 
they  might  easily  be  surprised  by  the  ene- 
my s  cavalry  were  not  immediate  protection 
at  band. 

And  now  recommenced  the  work  of 
slaughter.  The  din  of  battle  heard  hitherto 
was  the  distant  grumbling  of  thunder  com- 
pared with  the  convulsions  of  two  hundred 
guns.  The  Russians  were  drawn  up  in 
long-extended  columns  on  the  opposite  emi- 
nences. With  fearful  precision  the  balls 
struck  into  the  very  midst  of  these  masses ; 
whole  lines  falling,  yet  replaced  by  fresh 
rows  of  victims. 

"  They  make  an  obstinate  resistance," 
said  Rasinski,  who,  from  the  place  where  he 
stood,  was  furnished  with  an  excellent  view. 
"  But  they  sacrifice  themselves  in  vain.  In- 
stead of  taking  their  stand  there,  they  should 
move  farther  back,  or  make  a  rapid  advance. 
They  will  pay  dearly  for  this  error." 

The  regiment,  for  the  moment,  having  no  I 


other  duty  than  that  of  looking  on,  Bernard, 
Louis,  and  the  others,  gathered  around  their 
commander. 

"  See !"  exclaimed  Jaromir,  "  how  the  blue 
sky  shows  itself  through  the  gaps  in  that 
black  wall,  every  time  the  balls  strike  it. 
They  must  be  lunatics  thus  to  sacrifice  their 
best  men !" 

"  But  we  are  losing  our  time  too,  I  fear,** 
replied  Rasinski.  "  If  the  Guards  were  now 
brought  up  to  secure  the  advantages  we  have 
gained,  the  whole  Russian  army  might  be 
thrown  back  upon  its  right  wing,  and  become 
wedged  in  between  the  Mosqua  and  Kolo- 
scha.  I  do  not  see  how  they  could  es- 
cape." 

"  The  King  of  Naples,  as  I  myself  wit- 
nessed, when  in  the  redoubt,"  remarked 
Bernard,  "  sent  messages  ^o  the  Emperor, 
soliciting  the  advance  of  the  Guards." 

"  Marshal  Ney,  also,"  said  Boleslaus. 

"  And  he  refused  ?" 

"  It  seems  so." 

"  That  is  unaccountable  !  Incomprehen- 
sible !  He  is  at  too  great  a  distance  from 
the  battle-field.  He  should  stand  here  where 
we  are.  He  would  then  soon  change  his 
views." 

"  I  cannot  suppose,"  said  Louis,  "  that  a 
commander,  such  as  the  Emperor,  should 
not  have  more  valid  reasons  for  refusing  this 
request,  than  those  advanced  by  the  parties 
who  made  it." 

"  I  can  guess  what  may  be  his  reasons," 
replied  Rasinski.  "  We  are  certainly  not 
yet  so  far  advanced  on  either  wing^  as  in  the 
centre.  But  Prince  Poniatowskoi  is  now, 
also,  pressing  forward  ;  and  the  Viceroy  has 
never  yet  fought  without  success.  But  is 
not  that  Regnard  coming  yonder  ?" 

It  was  indeed  he.  With  a  bandaged  head 
and  arm  he  slowly  emerged  from  uie  fight, 
accompanied  by  two  of  ms  men.  Rasinski 
rode  up  to  him. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it  now,  friend  ?"  he  call- 
ed out. 

"  With  me  infernally  bad,  as  you  see. — 
Still  I  have  my  life  insured  not  to  be  taken 
off  in  this  battle.  I  am  only  slightly  wound- 
ed ;  but  the  uncommon  fatigue  and  loss  of 
blood  have  made  me  so  weak  that  I  can  hard- 
ly keep  my  seat.  Then  bad  luck,  vexation, 
and  the  strangest  anomalies  are  enough  to 
drive  one  crazy !" 

"  What  is  the  matter,  then  ?"  asked  Ra^ 
sinski,  in  deep  earnest. 

"How  can  you  ask?  Do  you  not  see 
how  the  battle  goes  ?  it  is  plain  the  Empe- 
ror is  Emperor  no  more,  or  rather  he  is  Em- 
peror, but  no  longer  the  General.  He  is  said 
to  be  sick,  shaken  with  the  fever — nobody 
can  understand  him.  Victory  lies  before 
him,  and  he  who  would  once  have  leaped 


150 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


int»  Charybdis  to  snatch  the  prize,  now  hesi- 
tates to  stretch  forth  his  hand  and  take  it. 
Murat,  Davoust,  and  Ney,  have  entreated 
him  to  send  the  Guards  to  their  assistance. 
He  has  refused.  They  have  orders  merely 
to  show  themselves  on  the  heights,  that  the 
enemy  may  take  alarm.  It  is  as  if  a  demon 
of  hell  had  assumed  his  shape  to  destroy  us." 

"  But  we  shall  conquer,  nevertheless." 

"  True  !  How  is  it  possible  to  result  oth- 
erwise ?  I  know  what  fighting  is,  but  I 
never  saw  Frenchmen  fight  as  they  do  to- 
day !" 

"  The  enemy  also  does  his  best !" 

"  That  he  does  !  He  defends  himself  like 
a  wounded  boar  ;  but  it  is  just  against  such  a 
foe  that  the  soldier  is  transformed  into  the 
lion.  Farewell,  friend !  I  must  have  my 
wounds  dressed.  I  can  hardly  keep  in  the 
saddle." 

The  Colonel  of  dragoons  held  out  his 
hand  and  proceeded  on  his  way. 

The  battle  still  raged  in  terrible  fury.  It 
was  now  the  chivalrous  Eugene  Beauharnois 
who  had.  the  must  difilcult  work  to  perform. 
On  an  eminence  equi-distant  between  the 
villages  of  Borodino  and  Semenowskoi,  the 
enemy  had  fortified  his  position  by  a  formida- 
ble redoubt,  from  which  four-and-twenty 
pieces  of  ordnance  incessantly  poured  forth 
a  torrent  upon  the  attacking  regiments. 

"  There  lies  the  victory !"  Rasinski  ex- 
claimed, as  he  fixed  his  eye  upon  this  point, 
against  which  both  armies  now  directed  their 
whole  strength. 

"  That  redoubt  rs  the  palladium  of  the 
Russians,"  he  again  exclaimed,  his  eye 
flashing  fire.  "  But  it  must  become  ours. 
The  Emperor  will  now  evince  to  the  world 
that  he  is  still  the  general  and  tactician,  as 
at  Marengo  and  Austerlitz  !" 

Orders  now  came  for  Rasinski  to  join  the 
other  masses  of  cavalry,  which  were  to 
charge  the  enemy's  infantry,  which,  for  the 
third  time,  had  been  rallied  by  the  indomita- 
ble Kutosow. 

The  French  troops  were  collected  in  a 
hollow,  throu;rh  which  flowed  a  streamlet, 
and  under  shelter  of  the  elevation  of  the 
surrounding  ground.  At  the  same  time  vast 
columns  of  infantry  were  seen  unfolding 
their  lines  and  marching  up  to  storm  the  re- 
doubt. 

"  I  believe  it  would  be  easier  to  storm 
Olympus,  than  this  infernal  laboratory  of  the 
Cyclops,"  said  Bernard  to  Louis,  pointing  to 
the  redoubt. 

But  the  columns  were  already  advancing 
at  a  quick  pace  with  fixed  bayonets. — 
Then  came  a  horrible  crash.  A  deluge  of 
grape  poured  its  death-mission  among  the 
assailants.  The  high  whirling  clouds  of 
dust  precluded  the  possibility  of  distinguish- 


ing who  fell  or  who  remained  standing.  But 
soon  the  eagles  again  glittered  in  their  splen- 
dor, and  with  maddening  breathlessness  again 
the  Frenchmen  advanced.  The  devouring 
monster  on  the  summit  seemed  to  have  be- 
come mute  ;  but  it  was  only  to  make  more 
sure  his  prey.  The  column  formed  once 
more  into  a  solid  phalanx,  it  darte'd  its  fiery 
tongues  from  its  four-and-twenty  pieces,  and 
a  roar  which  shook  the  heavens  and  earth 
reverberated  through  the  air.  As  the  furi- 
ous hail-storm  rages  over  the  field,  and  pros- 
trates stalks  and  ears  level  with  the  ground, 
so  did  this  scythe  of  destruction  now  mow 
down  the  French  warriors.  To  all  appear- 
ance one-half  of  the  men  had  been  swept 
away  at  one  blow.  The  iron  stream 
which  rolled  over  them  hardly  gave  them 
time  to  draw  breath.  The  insatiable  furies 
of  carnage,  wrapped  in  suflbcating  clouds, 
launched  their  hellish  lightnings  forth  on 
every  side.  Unable  to  succeed,  the  attack- 
ing columns  wavered,  broke  away,  and  dis- 
solved in  irregular  flight.  Fresh  troops  were 
led  on  to  the  assault ;  but  with  unabated 
fury  the  destructive  stream  from  the  redoubt 
covered  the  field.  Corpses  fell  upon  corpses, 
forming  a  rampart  of  flesh  around  this  dead- 
ly crater. 

The  wings  of  the  Russian  army  rested 
against  either  side  of  this  redoubt.  Impreg- 
nable as  Gibraltar,  they  defied  every  eflbrt. 
Their  infantry  contributed  greatly  to  the 
destruction  of  the  assailants.  Murat  sends 
two  regiments  of  cavalry  against  thesd 
columns,  to  turn  them  and  then  storm  the 
redoubt  in  front.  But  hardly  are  they  within 
range,  when  death  breaks  their  lines.  A  bul- 
let stretches  their  valiant  leader,  Montbrun, 
on  the  ground.  Those  who  sec  him  fall  halt 
and  waver.  Quickly  General. Caulaincourt 
dashes  forward  and  takes  Montbrun's  place. 

'•  Friends !"  he  cries,  "  we  will  avenge  the 
fallen  hero^this  is  no  time  for  weeping  !" 

The  King  of  Naples  orders  the  whole 
combined  mass  of  cavalry  to  advance.  Two 
regiments  of  Saxon  cuirassiers  constitute 
the  left  wing — a  Polish  regiment  joins  them. 
Then  follows  Rasinski  with  his  men,  suc- 
ceeded by  the  rest  of  the  cavalry. 

Slowly  they  mount  until  they  reach  the 
level  ground.  The  word  of  command  is 
given  ;  the  trumpet  sounds  ;  the  mighty  tor- 
rent rushes  swiftly  across  the  field  ;  the 
thunder  of  the  artillery  is  drowned  by  the 
heavy  trampling  of  horses,  and  the  war-cry 
of  the  Franks.  A  cloud  of  dust  envelops 
them  in  the  darkness  of  night.  The  flashes 
from  the  enemy's  guns  form  a  guide  to  the 
goal.  Closely  wedged,  knee  to  knee,  they 
push  onward.  Nothing  surely  can  with- 
stand the  shock  of  this  formidable  body. 
The  die  on  which  hangs  two  imperial  desti 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


151 


nies  is  thrown  high  in  air.  The  play  is  for 
ihe  mastery  of  the  world.  With  terrible 
power  the  French  cavalry  rush  upon  the 
enemy's  lines  and  throw  them  back  into  the 
plain.  This  sight  rekindles  the  ardor  of  the 
repulsed  infantry,  which  is  promptly  again 
put  in  motion  against  the  redoubt. 

With  a  piercing  shout  of  rage  the  foot- 
men advance.  The  iron  death-missiles  again 
iiour  into  their  ranks  and  carry  off  thousands, 
i'orward  they  struggle  over  the  mangled 
corpses  of  their  comrades.  The  eagles  fall. 
Forward !  Their  officers  sink,  struck  by  the 
death-hail.  Forward  !  is  the  cry,  that  they 
may  breathe  their  last  on  the  ^eld  of  victo- 
ry. And  they  rush  on,  straight  into  the 
black  thundering  pit  of  destruction.  The 
earth  has  become  a  raging  ocean — all  around 
the  breakers  roar — the  abyss  yawns,  glaring 
on  every  side.  Once  more  the  sluices  of 
hell  open,  roar,  and  hurl  flames  and  death 
among  the  assailants.  Their  line  lies  pros- 
trate. But "  Forward  !"  is-the  cry  of  the  rem- 
nant as  they  still  press  on. 

On  a  sudden  all  is  still.  Tt^e  thunder  is 
hushed  ;  the  black  curtain  of  smoke  is  rent, 
and  a  brilliant  light  strikes  the  darkened 
vision  of  these  heroes.  "Can  it  be?  Does 
another  wall  of  fire  rise  before  us  ?  No ! — 
we  hear  the  shout  of  friends — ^the  gladden- 
ing cry  of  "  Victory  !" 

It  was  the  valiant  cuirassiers  who  carried 
the  redoubt ;  and  proudly  did  the  sun  mirror 
itself  in  the  burnished  steel  of  those  breast- 
plates which  covered  hearts  of  still  more 
inflexible  metal. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

The  formidable  redoubt  is  taken.  The 
intrepid  foes  are  overthrown  and  defeated. 
But  soon  they  are  incorporated  with  the  yet 
unbroken  masses.  The  enemy  seems  to 
meditate  a  renewal  of  the  contest.  He  is 
aware  that  he  must  give  way,  but  he  will 
not  flee.  With  wrathful  glances  towards 
the  scene  of  battle,  he  slowly  retreats  and 
takes  up  a  new  and  secure  position.  His 
hills  and  his  streams  are  to  him  powerful 
auxiliaries.  There  is  no  rivulet  which  does 
not  oSer  its  steep  banks  as  a  shelter  to  the  son 
of  the  soil,  and  protect  him  against  the  pur- 
suing enemy.  There  is  no  hill  which  does 
not  answer  for  a  fortress  to  form  a  fresh  im- 
pediment in  the  way. 

Thus  it  did  not  become  the  task  of  the 
U^bt  cavalry  to  increase  the  confusion.  The 


usual  lighter  after-play  did  not  here  succeed 
the  more  serious  performance,  furnishing 
booty  and  prisoners.  The  iron  messen- 
gers of  the  artillery  alone  struck  furiously 
the  heels  of  the  slowly  retreating  enemy, 
until  silent,  hallowed  night  gloomily  spread 
her  dusky  mantle  over  the  agonies  and  hor- 
rors of  this  eventful  day. 

Still  llasinski  was  ordered  to  cover  the 
pursuing  artillery,  and  protect  them  from  the 
attacks  of  the  cavalry  of  the  enemy,  that 
might  turn  about. 

Now,  when  the  curtain  of  night  had  been 
drawn  around  them,  and  even  this  last  con- 
flict was  over,  Rasinski  rode  leisurely  back 
with  his  squadrons  over  the  battle-field,  in 
search  of  a  fitting  place  for  their  bivouac. 
The  profound  obscurity  did  not  permit  them 
to  distinguish  anything  clearly.  The  sky 
was  overcast  with  lowering  clouds,  drawn 
together  by  the  day's  cannonade.  A  chill- 
ing, drizzling  rain,  driven  by  the  rough  au- 
tumn winds,  dashed  in  the  exhausted  war- 
rior's faces.  To  the  terrible  tumult  of  the 
day  succeeded  deep,  gloomy  silence.  It  was 
only  from  the  agitated  tops  of  the  forest-trees 
that  a  hollow  rustling  was  heard,  while  flut- 
tering carrion-crows,  already  scenting  their 
prey,  kept  up  their  disgusting  croakings  over 
the  heads  of  the  riders.  The  aspect  of  na- 
ture all  around  sorted  well  with  the  tone 
pervading  every  breast.  Hushed  silence 
sealed  every  lip. 

Is  this  the  feeling  after  a  victory  ?  thought 
Louis,  with  an  inward  shudder.  His  ow^n 
fate  at  this  moment  appeared  to  him  as  a 
dark  troubled  dream,  out  of  which  he  must 
awake.  Trembling,  he  cast  a  backward 
glance  on  the  path  of  his  life,  which  from  a 
gentle  valley  had  towered  to  the  dizziest 
heights,  and  now  conducted  him  into  the 
darkest  abyss.  A  few  months  ago,  when 
the  vernal  buds  of  a  luxuriant  vegetation 
opened  on  the  sunny  plains  of  Italy,  his 
breast  was  yet  filled  with  calm  and  silent 
happiness.  He  then  looked  soberly  and  pla- 
cid upon  life;  though  many  dark  clouds  had 
passed  over  his  head,  yet  he  felt  happy  and 
contented  in  his  limited  circumstances. 
Then  he  built  charming  castles  in  the  air, 
indicated  by  a  peaceful  future,  remote  from 
the  turmoil  of  the  world.  He  thought  of 
Mary,  of  his  mother,  of  their  quiet  domestic 
comforts;  of  the  serious  claims  of  the 
sciences,  and  of  business  which  awaited 
him.  He  felt  himself  so  very  happy  as 
a  son  and  a  brother.  Even  the  wonderful 
emotions  of  his  heart,  called  into  existence 
by  that  charming,  fascinating  being,  whom 
he  had  met  at  the  foot  of  St.  Bernard, 
brought  only  the  smile  of  melancholy  long- 
ings upon  his  lips.  That  which  he  had  ever 
regarded  as  a  dream,  as  a  passing,  vanishing 


1^ 


EIGHTEEN-  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


apparition,  could  not  possibly  strike  any  very 
deep  root  of  sadness  into  his  soul. 

He  knew  grief  only  from  contemplating 
the  fate  of  his  native  country,  which  cer- 
tainly cast  some  very  dark  shadows  upon  the 
background  of  his  otherwise  peaceful  days, 
and  that  certain  pain  which  often  might  be 
called  a  pleasure,  arising  from  those  unalloy- 
ed and  vague  desires  and  impulses  which 
agitate  every  youthful  breast.  With  these 
feelings  he  had  ascended  the  hill  before 
Duomo  d'Ossola. 

And  now,  on  finding  himself  in  the  heart 
of  Russia,  on  a  battle-field  covered  with 
corses,  drenched  in  blood — when  he  reflect- 
ed that  his  beloved  mother  was  sleeping  far 
away  in  the  silent  tomb — that  his  only  sister 
was  left  solitary  and  bereaved — that  the  im- 
age of  Bianca  had  sunk  into  the  gulf  of  eter- 
nal night — these  were  moments  when,  in 
convulsive  agony,  he  would  exclaim  : 

"  Oh,  that  I  could  arouse  me  from  this 
horrible  dream !" 

As  they  rode,  Bernard 's  horse  stumbled 
and  fell  on  his  knees,  so  that  the  rider  was 
well-nigh  thrown  over  his  head.  "What 
is  this  !  "  he  exclaimed,  pulling  up  the  beast 
•'  I  thought  it  was  a  body." 

Bernard  was  right.  They  were  crossing 
that  part  of  the  field  where  the  Russian  ar- 
tillery had  done  the  most  terrible  execution. 
Till  now  they  had  only  traversed  the  ground 
over  w4iich  the  French  artillery  had  step  by 
step  followed  the  enemy. 

**  We  are  now  on  the  high-land  behind 
Semenowskoi,"  said  Rasinski ;"  a  great  many 
dead  must  be  lying  here,  and  probably  many 
badly  wounded.  Ride  carefully,  lest  we 
chance  to  increase  the  suiTerings  of  these 
helpless  wretches." 

This  humane  order  it  was  impossible  to  fol- 
low, for  now  the  number  of  carcases  of  men 
and  animals  covered  the  ground  so  thickly, 
that  they  came  in  contact  with  the  horses' 
hoofs  almost  at  every  step. 

"Let  us  turn  to  the  left  down  in  that 
meadow,"  said  Rasinski ; "  there  death  cannot 
have  raged  so  fearfully.  It  will  be  some- 
thing out  of  the  way,  but  we  shall  reach  our 
destmation  sooner  than  by  being  arrested  as 
we  are  at  every  step." 

As  long  as  they  continued  on  the  ridge  of 
the  hill,  the  ground  was  still  thickly  sown 
with  dead  bodies. 

"  I  am  glad  that  the  night  hides  from  us 
this  horrid  spectacle,"  Louis  remarked. — 
*'  Fancy  may  be  stronger  than  reality,  but 
still  her  vagaries  could  not  be  so  shocking 
as  the  sight  which  daylight  would  reveal  to 
us  here." 

The  little  band  rode  silently  over  the  field 
of  death.  Frequently  they  fancied  they  heard 
groans  and  cries,  but  these  expressions  of 


suflfering  were  drowned  in  the  rustling  of 
the  forest-trees,  the  heavy  tramp  of  the 
horses'  hoofs,  the  rattling  of  the  sabres,  or 
the  snuffing  and  snorting  of  the  heavily- 
breathing  horses. 

Every  one  breathed  more  freely,  as  they 
reached  the  lower  ground  where  death  had 
not  found  its  victims  so  fully  exposed.  Pol- 
lowing  the  course  of  the  little  rivulet,  they 
passed  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  were 
erected  the  three  redoubts  against  which 
Rasinski  and  his  regiment  had  directed  their 
efforts. 

"  Halt— front ! "  he  shouted.  The  regi- 
ment, or  the  handful  that  was  left  of  it,  now 
fronted  the  very  eminence  on  which  they  had 
lost  the  full  half  of  their  number. 

"  Up  there,"  said  Rasinski  to  his  dovoted 
followers  in  his  powerful  voice,  "  there  on 
that  hill  lie  our  brave  and  faithful  comrades. 
Let  us  offer  up  our  silent  prayer  for  them." 

With  these  words  he  took  off  his  Polish 
zapka  with  the  waving  plume,  and  inclined 
his  uncovered  head.  In  deep  solemnity  the 
warriors  followed  his  example.  For  some 
minutes  a  hallowed  silence  prevailed.  The 
leader  then  resumed  his  erect  posture  and  in 
a  short  gallop  rode  down  the  line.  On  the 
summit  of  a  little  elevation  he  stopped. — 
"  Right  and  left  wheel  into  circle  !"  It  was 
done.  "  Halt !  "  he  finally  cried,  and  com- 
menced :  "  Comrades !  this  day  has  been 
bloody,  but  glorious.  More  than  two-thirds 
of  our  brother-soldiers  are  missing  in  our 
lines.  One-half  of  our  own  number  have 
purchased  the  victory  with  their  lives  ;  the 
others  are  lying  severely  wounded.  We 
mourn  over  the  brave  ones  who  have  fallen, 
but  their  loss  must  not  discourage  us ;  it  ought 
rather  to  heighten  our  zeal.  Banish,  then,  all 
gloomy  thoughts  from  your  breasts.  '  We 
have  been  victorious,  and  after  a  victory  the 
warrior's  face  should  beam  with  joy.  The 
struggle  is  over ;  only  a  few  days,  and  the 
reward  will  be  yours.  Yes,  my  brothers, 
this  is  indeed  a  glorious  day  ;  for  although, 
during  the  battle,  fortune  was  sometimes 
against  us,  you  have  fought  like  true  sons  of 
Poland — it  is  my  pride  to  have  been  your  lead- 
er." 

"  Hurrah  for  our  Colonel,  the  gallant  Ra- 
sinski !"  cried  they  all.  Greatly  moved, 
Rasinski  returned  a  soldier-like  salute.  The 
trumpets  then  sounded,  and  with  re-adjusted 
files,  and  in  close  order,  the  body  proceeded 
on  to  the  bivouac. 

Soon  a  cheerful  fire  crackled  and  burned 
high.  The  projecting  branches  of  the  trees 
of  the  forest  hard  by  were  illuminated  by  its 
exhilirating  blaze.  Bernard,  Louis,  Jaromir, 
Boleslaus,  and  the  officers  whom  the  battle 
had  spared  all  threw  themselves  on  the  ground 
in  a  circle  with  their  colonel  in  their  midsL 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


"  Well,  friends,"  said  Rasinski,  "  it  has 
been  a  toilsome  day  for  us ;  do  you  know 
how  many  there  are  leftof  us  ?  Three  hundred 
and  twenty-five,  all  counted.  The  battle  has 
cost  us  three  hundred  and  seventy !" 

The  officers  regarded  each  other  with  sad- 
ness. They  were  no  more  than  five  in  num- 
ber. Seven  had  been  carried  from  the  battle- 
field severely  wounded.,  eleven  cut  off  by 
deati),  and  of  those  who  now  sat  by  the 
fire  none  were  entirely  unhurt  but  Rasin- 
ski, Jaromir,  and  the  captains  Bernecki, 
Jelski,  and  Bernard.  Louis  had  been  some- 
what bruised  by  the  fall  of  his  horse. 

"  I  am  grieved  for  all  whom  we  miss," 
said  Rasinski,  "  yet  I  may  say,  that  one  loss 
affects  me  more  especially.  It  is  that  of  our 
old  friend  Petrowski,  this  brave  old  man,  who 
carried  more  scara  than  hairs  on  his  head, 
but  in  whose  breast  still  glowed  the  fire  of 
youthful  courage  and  patriotism." 

"  Ah  !  Petrowski  is  dead !  And  where- 
abouts did  he  fall ! "  asked  Bernard. 

*'  Up  there  by  the  redoubts,  where  we  were 
repulsed,  and  where  the  most  of  ours  met 
their  fate.  He  would  not  turn,  but  was  ex- 
erting himself  to  make  his  section  stand  their 
ground,  when  a  cannon-ball  passed  right 
tiirough  him  an4  his  horse  too.  They  fell, 
the  one  over  the  other.  I  saw  it  all,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  assist  him,  being  ourselves 
swept  away. 

"  Might  he  not  be  among  the  wounded  ?" 
asked  Louis. 

^  No,  dear  friend — I  have  receiveil  the  re- 
port. And  then  I  saw  death  too  plainly 
stamped  on  his  face.  He  lies  up  there. — 
Should  we  have  time  to-morrow,  I  will  see 
if  I  cannot  give  a  suitable  burial  to  the  old 
hero's  remains.  His  comrades  may  then  tell 
at  home  where  lie  the  bones  of  this  gallant 
Pole."  Rasinski  shook  as  if  with  the  ague  as 
he  added,  "  But  this  only  serves  to  unman 
ns.  Who  knows  what  accident  might  rouse 
us  from  our  slumbers  during  the  night?  let 
us  enjoy  a  short  season  of  rest  while  we  can." 

The  wearied  soldiers  were  soon  wrapped 
in  forgetfulness.  But  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  impatience  and  care  tore  Rasinski 
from  his  slumber.  Wrapped  up  in  his  cloak, 
he  passed  through  the  lines  of  the  sleepers 
lying  around  the  fire.  The  watches  alone 
were  up  and  looking  fixedly  into  the  fire ; 
they  either  thoughtfully  or  thoughtlessly 
stirred  up  the  embers. 

"  What  time  is  it,  friend  ?"  asked  Rasin- 
ski. 

"  Midnight." 

"  Did  you  hear  nothing  ?  No  report  of 
cannon  in  the  di^stance— no  beating  of  drums?" 

"  Only  dead  silence  !" 

"  Strange,"  murmured  Rasinski ;  "  we 
ought  to  pursue,  and  not  give  the  enemy  this 


repose.    But  the  victors  are  perhaps  even 
more  exhausted  than  the  vanquished." 

He  bent  his  way  towards  a  hill  which 
commanded  an  extensive  view.  The  battle- 
field lay  before  him,  black  and  silent.  As 
on  the  evening  before,  the  fires  shone  in  a 
bright  semicircle  in  the  Russian  camp.  Sin- 
gly and  expiring  they  burned  on  the  ground  on 
which  the  conquering  army  was  encamped. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  fruit  of  so  terrible  a 
battle  ?  The  enemy  mistaken  in  his  position  ? 
To-morrow,  perhaps,  the  sun  will  again  rise 
as  bloody  ?  Only  one  such  victory  more,  and 
we  are  lost !"  He  paced  violently  up  and 
down.  A  confused  noise  of  voices  from  a 
distance  reached  his  ear.  It  was  the  well- 
known  Russian  battle-call,  which  sounded 
from  the  camp.  "  Would  they  risk  an  attack 
during  the  night  ?" 

Meanwhile  he  heard  a  rustle  close  behind 
him  in  the  bushes. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?" 

•*  It  is  I,"  replied  Louis'  voice.  **  The 
heavy  dreams  would  not  permit  me  to  sleep. 
I  followed  you,  when  I  saw  that  you  ascend- 
ed the  hill.'^ 

Rasinski  laid  his  hand  upon  Louis* 
shoulder  and  sighed  :  "  Oh,  my  frieiul,"  said 
he,  "  were  you  as  experienced  a  soldier  as  I 
am,  you  would  understand  that  victory  is 
sometimes  destructive.  This  war  cannot 
have  a  happy  termination.  The  Emperor  is 
blinded.  He  does  not  know  old  Russia.  He 
thinks  to  advance  to  Moscow,  there  to  dictate 
a  peace.  And  should  he  succeed  in  entering 
the  old  capital  of  the  Czars,  only  just  two 
days'  march  before  us,  he  does  not  know 
that  he  will  then  only  stand  at  the  threshold 
of  this  gigantic  Empire.  The  most  fertile 
provinces  are  yet  untouched.  They  have 
resources  enough  to  nourish  the  flying  in- 
habitants who  live  on  this  side  of  Moscow, 
while  us  the  winter  here  will  devour.  And 
as  yet  we  are  not  in  Moscow.  Do  you  see 
the  bright  fires  of  the  Russian  camp  yonder^ 
do  you  hear  their  war-cry  ?  If  they  are  re- 
solved, if  their  leader  has  ability  and  strength 
of  purpose,  they  will  still  give  us  three  ti- 
tles before  we  see  the  golden  spires  of  that 
city  shining  in  the  sun.  And  then  ?  When 
thousands  and  thousands  have  been  swept 
away,  how  shall  we  keep  the  immense  terri- 
tory we  have  conquered  ?  A  boundary  is 
set  to  every  human  power  !  Accustomed  to 
the  greatest  successes,  to  realise  the  almost 
impossible,  our  great  leader  has  overrated 
his  strength  and  misunderstood  his  means. 
He  must  break  down  under  the  gigantic 
weight  of  his  undertaking,  which,  rolling 
backwards,  must  crush  him." 

Louis  was  silent — the  gave  himself  up  to 
glowing  meditations.  Rasinski  also  remain- 
ed silent,  and  stared  into  the  darkness. 


Ib4 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


"Oh,  friend,"  he  finally  added,  and  in  a  tone 
Louis  had  never  heard  from  him  before, 
"  what  if,  in  looking  upon  this  field  of  destruc- 
tion, the  question  is  asked,  why  do  these 
thousands  bleed  ?  Alas,  you  do  ndt  suspect 
the  horrible  picture  of  human  misery  that 
lurks  behind  the  mask  of  ambition  !  I  do  not 
bewail  the  dead  ;  they  have  found  their  rest. 
To  fall  in  battle,  is  the  fate,  the  glory  of  the 
warrior.  But  how  many  thousands,  perhaps, 
lie  here  on  the  rack  of  unutterable  suffering  ! 
This  rough,  piercing  night  makes  us  trem- 
ble with  cold,  although  unhurt  and  refreshed. 
How  then  must  it  be  with  those  who,  with 
broken  limbs,  with  mutilated  frames,  are 
abandoned  to  the  influence  of  the  cold,  their 
wounds  bleeding,  while  frost  and  fever  al- 
ternately seize  them  ?  In  agony  they  count 
the  lazy  hours  of  the  night,  until  assistance 
shall  be  given  to  their  misery.  They  think 
of  home,  of  parents,  from  whom  the  iron 
hand  of  war  tore  them  ;  the  father  sees  before 
his  eyes  the  image  of  his  tender  children,  the 
husband  the  figure  of  his  loving  wife,  the 
youtli  that  of  the  weeping  bride !  Buried 
among  cold  corpses,  surrounded  by  those  who 
in  the  struggle  of  death  curse  themselves 
and  their  creator,  they  lie  in  horrible  solitude 
or  in  still  more  terrible  company,  while  every 
fresh  minute  pours  upon  them  a  new  stream 
of  horror  and  misery.  Louis  !  He  who  sees 
the  battle,  only  sees  the  smiling  face  of  war. 
Look  at  the  battle-field  to-morrow  and  you 
will  shrink  back  in  dismay  before  the  grin- 
ning face  of  the  hideous  spectre  !  " 

E-vcitcd  by  his  words,  Rasinski  here  seized 
Louis'  hand  and  continued  "  But  see  it  you 
shall  and  must !  You  must  know  what  a 
man  dares  to  do  for  glory  and  his  country. 
This  sight  will  finish  your  education." 

Exlmusted,  he  threw  his  arms  around  Louis' 
neck,  and  rested  his  head  upon  his  breast.  He 
shed  no  tears,  but  his  heart  beat  violently 
and  his  chocks  burned  as  if  with  a  fever. 
Louis  had  no  words  of  consolation,  only  the 
pressure  of  love  for  the  man  on  whose  manly 
power  he  had  often  already  supported  him- 
self, and  whom  he  now  saw  so  overpowered. 
But  it  was  only  for  a  few  minutes.  Rasinski 
had  soon  recomposed  himself;  he  rose  and 
with  melancholy  friendship,  said : 

"My  breast  becomes  calm  like  one  in 
which  the  heart  beats  no  more ;  now  it  is 
over :  I  have  given  freedom  to  the  choking 
oppression — the  dream  is  passed — I  am  my 
own  master  again.  You  will  never  see  me 
weak  when  the  moment  of  action  claims 
firmness.  I  wished  ta  trust  my  sorrows  to 
the  night  alone  :  now  the  breast  of  a  friend 
divides  them,  and  you  will  help  me  to  bear 
them." 

Arm  in  arm  they  went  down  and  sought 
repose  with  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  L. 

.  As  day  broke,  an  orderly  brought  Rasinski 
information  that  the  Emperor  intended  to  hold 
a  review  of  the  troops.  At  an  early  hour  the 
regiment  mounted  and  took  its  place  in  the 
line.  Now,  only  had  it  become  known, 
through  the  aids  who  rode  to  and  fro,  that 
the  Russian  army  had  commenced  its  retreat 
during  the  night  The  king  of  Naples  had 
gone  with  part  of  the  cavalry  to  inform  him- 
self whether  they  would  retire  towards  Mos- 
cow or  on  the  route  through  Kalouga.  A 
firm,  rigid  pursuit  with  the  whole  army,  the 
emperor  thought  he  could  not  ask  of  the 
exhausted   and  almost  decomposed  troops. 

Arranged  in  a  long  line,  the  regiments 
crowned  the  crest  of  the  hills,  lining  the 
battle-gi'ound  now  lying  before  tliem.  Like 
a  dreary  desert  was  its  aspect,  but  they  were 
too  far  distant  to  recognise  one  of  the  thou- 
sands lying  scattered  there.  The  army  itself 
presented  but  an  indifferent  plight.  The 
troops  had  collect(jd  around  their  eagles,  but 
they  looked  neither  gay  nor  proud  of  victory. 
Their  uniforms  were  mostly  black  with  the 
smoke  of  powder  and  dust,  torn  by  balls  and 
cuts  of  the  sabre.  Hunger,  cold,  too  great 
exertion  had  exhausted  the  strength  of  these 
braves.  The  usually  fierj»eye  looked  dis- 
spiritedly  from  underneath  the  bushy  eye- 
brow. A  deep  expression  of  seriousness  was 
depicted  on  their  wrinkled  foreheads;  it 
seemed  to  increase  with  every  glance,  upon 
the  bloody  fields  where  thousands  of  their 
comrades  slept.  And  these  fields  of  death 
and  blood  were  the  sole  trophies  of  victory 
which  had  been  gained!  Many  regiments 
had  dwindled  to  one-third  their  original  num- 
ber ;  a  small  band,  they  stood  around  their  ea- 
gles, hardly  numerous  enough  to  defend  them. 

Thus  they  awaited  the  Emperor. 

With  earnest  features  he  rode  through  their 
lines.  He  saluted  the  soldiers,  praised  their 
courage,  promised  rewards,  promotions,  de- 
corations. The  officers  set  up  the  cry :  "  Vive 
FEmpereur!"  and  the  warriors  joined  it 
But  it  was  only  the  old  custoni — a  duty  of  the 
heart — no  free  enthusiasm,  which  bravely  and 
happily  breaks  through  its  bonds.  And  then, 
where  the  thunder  of  thousands  of  voices 
formerly  resounded,  only  hundreds'  were 
heard — the  lips  of  many  were  closed  forever. 

After  reviewing  the  troops,  the  emperor 
turned  his  horse  to  ride  over  the  battle-field. 
Many  generals  and  superior  officers  followed 
him.  Rasinski,  and  at  his  request,  Bernard 
and  Louis,  also  followed  at  some  distance. 

"  See  what  grey  clouds  cover  the  sky," 
said  Bernard  to  Louis  as  they  rode  slowly 
along  by  each  other's  side.  "  It  is  as  if  heaven 
itself  were  afraid  to  show  a  gay  face  on  the 
scene."  i 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


155 


A  transport  of  wounded  passed  them. 
The  expression  of  most  of  the  sufferers  was 
one  of  silent  resignation.  A  few  looked  dar- 
ing and  wild,  and  as  though  they  would  raise 
themselvefS  above  their  hapless  fate,  broke 
out  into  exclamations  of  pain.  A  very  small 
number  seemed  to  feel  joy  at  having  found 
assistance,  or  looked  gratefully  around. 

Now  they  reached  the  first  points  around 
which  death  had  raged  violently.  The  ground 
being  uneven,  many  of  the  wounded  had 
crept  hither  to  find  a  protection  against  the 
chill  of  the  air.  They  were  lying  in  holes  in 
the  earth,  and  trembling  with  frost  and  fever. 
The  teeth  of  an  old  grenadier  rattled  terribly, 
but  no  sound  of  pain  escaped  him  ;  he  looked 
fiercely  only  from  his  deep  sunken  eyes  at 
the  passers.  Ijouis  would  have  dismounted 
to  assist  the  miserable  wretch,  had  not  two  of 
his  comrades  arrived  with  a  litter,  on  which 
they  laid  him,  and  carried  him  away. 

A  few  steps  farther,  Bernard,  elbowing 
Louis,  said :  "  Is  not  that  pitiable  ?" 

A  young  man  with  fair  hair,  in  whose  soft, 
almost  maiden  features,  in  spite  of  pain  and 
misery,  youthful  beauty  was  still  depicted, 
lay  across  the  way,  his  dying  eyes  fixed  on 
the  comers.  Low  words  of  complaint 
seemed  to  stand  on  his  half-opened  lips ;  im- 
ploringly he  cnst  his  eyes  upon  some  soldiers 
who  were  taking  up  the  wounded  near  him. 
He  seemed  to  murmur:  "  Oh,  come,  and  help 
me  also !" 

Louis  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  jumped 
from  his  horse,  approached  the  unhappy 
youth,  and  bent  down  to  assist  him.  A  grey- 
headed grenadier  roughly  spoke : 

"Let  him  lie,  comrade;  he  cannot  be 
helped;  you  only  lengthen  his  sufferings. 
How  should  a  man  with  one  leg  and  a  crushed 
breast  be  able  to  make  his  way  from  this  ter- 
rible country  to  France?  Leave  him,  and 
help  those  who  may  still  be  saved?  Wish 
him  a  good  sleep,  and  go !" 

The  unfortunate  sufferer  heard  the  words 
which  tore  the  last  thread  of  hope  without 
pity,  and  sighing  deeply,  he  looked  up  in 
Louis'  face.  The  latter's  eye  became  dim. 
With  compassionate  interest  he  bent  over 
him,  and  said : 

"  It  is  not  so  bad  yet,  friend ;  I  mean  to 
carry  you  up  there — keep  up  courage !" 

The  wounded  boy  looked  thankfully  at 
him ;  he  could  not  smile,  so  horribly  had  pain 
contracted  his  muscles,  but  a  slight  shade  of 
hope  lighted  up  his  dying  eye.  Louis  would 
have  raised  him  at  the  instant,  but  the  misera^ 
ble  soldier  had  still  his  knapsiick  at  his 
back.  The  weight  was  too  much,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  desist.  Bernard  thereupon  alighted 
to  assist  him.  Both  the  friends  stooped  over 
softly  to  raise  the  helpless  boy — ^his  head  fell 


back — Ah  I  ma  mere .'"  escaped  his  lips,  and 
slowly  he  sank  down  a  corpse. 


For  a  moment  both  stood  appalled.  They 
gazed  on  the  body  in  mute  bewilderment, 
then  slowly  remounted. 

Shortly  they  were  on  the     space   where 
the  conflict  had  been  waged  so  obstinately 
the  preceding  day.      Here  tlie  whole  field 
was  covered  with  corpses. ;  but  few  wounded 
were  to  be  seen,  for  as  soon  as  the  morning 
dawned,  hundreds  of  soldiers  had  been  en- 
gaged in  getting  them  into  the  wagons.  More 
horrible  was  the  scene  of  death  on  wliich  they 
now  stepped.     In  innumerable  masses,  Rus- 
sians and  Frenchmen  covered   the  field,  for 
here  the  struggle  had  for  a  long  time  been 
undecided.      Terrible  mutilations  appeared 
everywhere ;  the  torn  limbs  lay  singly  around, 
or  were  carelessly  thrown  into  heaps.    Dur- 
ing the  wild  struggle  of  death,  the  bodies  of 
mutilated  horsesi  had  fallen  upon  the  dead 
and  wounded,  so  that  in  the  cold  features  of 
those  found  lying  under  the  carcasses  of  these 
animals,  the  terror  in  which  they  had  breathed 
out  their  spirit  under  the  horrible   burden 
was  expressed.    Broken  helmets,  cuirasses, 
guns  and  sabres  shone  among  the  bleeding 
heaps ;  pieces  of  broken  cannon  lay  arouni 
It  was  difficult  to  lead  the  horses  through  this 
terrible  labyrinth  without  human  bodies  be- 
ing injured  by  their  hoofs. 

The  Emperor  halted.  With  a  keen  eye  he 
looked  around.  His  glance  passed  over  the 
scene  of  horror  at  his  feet.  He  did  not  look 
at  the  field  of  death,  but  at  that  of  battle, 
with  the  discerning  ken  of  a  chieftain.  He 
seemed  to  wish  to  be  alone,  his  suite  was  or- 
dered by  a  sign  to  retire.  They  dispersed  in 
different  directions  over  the  battle-field.  Mar- 
shal Berthier  alone  remained  at  the  Emperor's 
side. 

Rasinski  and  his  companions  rode  towards 
the  place  where  yesterday  he  and  his  regi- 
ment had  first  got  within  fire.  Soon  the 
Polish  uniforms  were  seen  glittering  around ; 
they  could  be  distinguished  from  afar  by  their 
brilliant  blue  color, 

"  Here  I  sought  thee  yesterday,"  said  Ber- 
nard to  Louis.  "  By  the  great  cross  of  Nu- 
remberg, I  am  glad  to  see  thee  now  riding 
at  my  side." 

"  Could  we  only  succeed  in  finding  the 
body  of  brave  old  Petrowski,  I  should  feel 
happier,"  said  Rasinski,  attentively  casting  hia 
glances  over  the  field,  and  looking  closely 
among  the  dead  of  his  regiment.  "  Herea- 
bouts I  saw  him  fall.  But  is  not  that  Jaromir 
coming  ?" 

"We'  are  in  march.  Colonel  Rasinski," 
exclaimed  Jaromir,  riding  up.  "Just  now 
the  order  arrived.  Boleslaus  is  already  gone 
with  the  regiment.  I  remained  behind  to 
seek  you.  We  take  the  road  to  Uliga,  on 
which  we  are  to  reconnoitre  the  byways  of 
the  old  road  to  Moscow,  as  it  is  supposea  that 


156 


Et6HTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


the  Russians  turned  thither,  to  march  upon 
Kalouga  and  Tula." 

"  Who  brought  the  order?" 

"  An  aid  of  the  king  of  Naples." 

"Did  you  find  feed?" 

Jaromir  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  the  horses  must  starve." 

"  Some  hay  and  half-rotten  grass  was  all 
we  could  pick  up,  but  we  hope  to  get  some 
provisions  in  the  villages  on  the  road. 

"How  are  the  men?" 

"Refreshed,  but  not  sufficiently;  deter- 
mined, but  not  gay.  The  victory  is  incom- 
plete. They  know  that  we  have  made  only 
eighteen  hundred  prisoners,  and  after  such  a 
battle,  we  ought  at  least  to  have  double  that 
of  thousands.  The  twenty-four  heavy  pieces 
of  cannon,  and  some  smaller  ones,  is  all  that 
is  captured. 

"And  over  seventy  thousand  killed  and 
wounded !"  returned  Rasinski,  gloomily. 

"  Counting  both  sides,"  replied  Jaromir. 

"  A  terrible  victory !  Forty-two  generals 
have  fallen,  among  them  Coulaincourt  and 
iiontbrun.  Marshal  Davoust,  too,  is  wound- 
ed." 

"  But  not  dangerously !" 

Rasinski  said  no  more.  They  had  now 
reached  open  ground,  and  rode  over  at  full 
speed  to  join  their  regiment  and  once  more 
throw  themselves  into  the  roaring  sea  of 
belligerent  strife. 


CHAPTER  U. 

Oh  the  fourteenth  of  September,  the  first 
body  of  the  army's  cavalry,  among  whom 
were  Rasinski's,  reached  the  "  Sacred  Moun- 
tain" from  the  top  of  which  they  saw,  for  the 
firat  time,  the  old  seat  of  the  Czars  spread 
out  before  them  ui  the  valley.  It  was  two 
in  the  afternoon.  A  brilliant  autumnal  sun 
broke  through  the  thin  clouds,  passing  over  the 
clear  blue  sky.  In  a-thous9,nd  different  tints 
shone  the  numberless  cupolas  of  the  churches 
and  palaces,  which,  glittering  in  gold  and 
green,  rose  high  above  the  other  buildings  of 
the  city.  From  the  forest  of  spires,  the 
Kremlin  rose  like  a  crowned  head,  while 
crowds  of  pigeons  circled,  fluttering  their 
brilliant  wings  in  the  sun's  rays  around  the 
spires  of  the  towers. 

An  involuntary  exclamation  of  gladness 
and  awe  burst  from  every  breast.  "  The 
cry  of  "  Moscou !  Moscou  !"  resounded 
everywhere.  Like  a  golden  prize  for  the 
victor— like  a  brilliant  crown  for  the  valorous, 


the  capital  lay  before  the  eyes  of  those 
braves  who,  from  the  beautiful  streams  of 
France  and  Germany,  had  dared  to  invade 
the  horrid  deserts  of  Old  Russia.  Those 
foremost  called  to  their  comrades  behind. 
Those  wearied  with  the  exertions  of  the 
march,  felt  a  new  return  of  strength  in  their 
veins;  all  recollection  of  their  pains, sorrows, 
dangers  and  privations  suddenly  vanished. 
Like  a  stream  which  suddenly  overflows  its 
banks  and  rushes  on  in  a  rapid  course,  so 
did  the  crowd  of  soldiers  stream  up  the,  hill. 
The  thronger  the  masses  of  the  army  became 
on  the  summit,  the  louder  were  the  rever- 
berations through  the  silent  sky. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  Capital  of  the  Czars, 
rich  in  fables  and  wonders !"  exclaimed  Ber- 
nard, after  gazing  some  time.  "  We  have 
found  it  at  length  behind  the  forests  and 
wastes  which  protectingly  surround  it !" 

"It  is  time,"  said  Rasinski,  casting  a 
glance  back  upon  the  army  ;  "  high  time  !" 

Loiiis  gazed  upon  the  imposing  city  with 
that  reverential  wonder  that  at  the  same 
time  eases  and  elevates  the  heart. 

"  A  glorious  picture  !*'  exclaimed  Bernard 
with  animation.  "  Oh,  what  a  pity  that  it 
cannot  be  painted  !  Observe  the  masses  of 
cupolas  there  in  their  brilliancy  and  splendor ; 
then  the  confused  crowd  of  tops  of  houses 
below,  and  the  green  stripes  and  spots  mark- 
ing the  gardens  tliat  like  veins  wind  their 
way  through  the  stones  ;  the  silvery  gleams 
which  the  stream  brilliantly  throws  upon  the 
landscape ;  and  look  at  this  terrible  army, 
which  like  a  black  flood,  rolls  over  the 
fields.  See  only  how  the  bayonets  shine  in 
the  sun,  and  the  plumes  and  metal  of  the 
cannon  seen  yonder  in  a  long  line  at  the 
edge  of  the  forest.  Here  and  there  the  eye 
is  lost  in  a  labyrinth  ;  for  the  last  towers  of 
the  city  already  disappear  in  blue  fogs,  and 
the  long  train  of  carriages  and  the  rear  of 
the  army  are  enclosed  in  invisible  regions." 

During  this  conversation  they  had  slowly 
ridden  down  the  hill.  For  some  time  the  con- 
fusion had  prevailed  that  is  generally  crea- 
ted by  extraordinary  events  on  the  march ; 
but  the  men  were  finally  got  into  line. 

Thus  they  approached  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  city,  expecting  every  moment  to  meet 
a  resolute  enemy.  Suddenly  they  halted — -a 
rumor  ran  through  the  lines  that  the  King  of 
Naples  was  engaged  in  amicable  conversa- 
tion with  the  leader  of  the  Cossacks.  Al- 
ready hopes  were  entertained  that  the  strug- 
gle would  end  here — that  peace  was  at  hand 
— that  the  reward  for  all  their  pains  and 
dangers  was  secure  and  immediate.  Risin- 
ski  was  desirous  of  learning  the  truth ;  he 
therefore  rode  a  little  in  advance.  He  found 
it  true  that  Murat  had  really  spoken  to 
some  Cossacks  and  made  them  presents. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


1&7 


jBat  thoy  had  only  accompanied  a  single 
o&cer,  who  claimed  an  unmolested  retreat 
for  the  rear-guard  of  Kutosow's  army ;  if 
this  were  refused,  they  threatened  to  set  the 
city  on  fire  as  they  left  it  behind  them.  The 
Emperor,  informed  of  this,  had  consented, 
and  they  now  began  to  enter  the  city. 

While  Prince  Eugene  and  Prince  Poniatow- 
ski  with  their  corps  proceeded  along  the  right 
and  left  of  the  main  road,  thereby  surround- 
ing the  city,  Rasinski  and  his  soldiers  fol- 
lowed the  King  of  Naples,  who  cautiously  ad- 
vanced in  a  straight  line.  He  fully  counted 
on  serious  fighting  in  the  streets. 

And  now  they  passed  through  the  streets 
of  the  suburb.  They  were  empty  and  deso- 
late, as  had  been  the  villages  they  had  passed 
in  numbers  on  their  way  to  this  long  desired 
point. 

"  The  people  must  be  terribly  afraid  of 
us,"  observed  Bernard  to  Jaromir,  who  rode 
close  by  his  side  ;  "  they  show  us  neither  the 
tips  of  their  noses,  nor  an  inch  of  their 
beards  7  Is  there  not  a  single  handsome 
child  curious  enough  to  peep  out  of  these 
small  windows  ?  It  is  well  enough  for  the 
enemy  to  fear  us,  but  the  girls  should  not  be 
afraid.  Are  we  cannibals  ?  What  the  devil 
do  they  take  us  for  ?" 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Louis,  "  that  the  in- 
habitants of  these  suburbs  have  fled  to  the 
city.  They  fear,  perhaps,  the  first  invasion ; 
and  it  is  not  improbable  that  a  skirmish  may 
have  been  fought  here.  In  that  case,  he  who 
cannot  use  arms  is  certainly  the  worst  off." 

"  And  especially  here,"  said  Rasinski, 
turning  round,  having  heard  the  conversation, 
"  where  the  wooden  houses  would  burn  as 
quick  as  dry  straw,  so  soon  as  the  first  gre- 
nade was  cast  into  them." 

"  It  would  be  an  infernal  trick,"  observed 
Jaromir,  if  our  winter  quarters  should  be 
burned  down.  It  appears  to  me,  that  a  re- 
pose of  six  or  seven  months,  which  I  expect 
to  have  here,  will  benefit  us." 

Rasinski  was  silent,  but  on  his  brow  could 
be  read  that  he  did  not  agree  with  Jaromir's 
hope.  "  The  thirf^  most  desirable,"  he  said 
after  a  pause,  "  would  be  a  peace  as  soon  as 
possible.  And  were  this  to  arrive,  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Emperor  is  more  required  in  the 
centre  of  Europe  than  here,  almost  on  the 
frontiers  of  Asia." 

Boleslaus  rode  earnestly  and  silently  for- 
ward, as  usual,  without  taking  part  in  the 
conversation. 

Suddenly  the  line  halted  again.  As  Ra- 
sinski was  not  at  the  head,  he  could  not  see 
what  obstacle  stood  in  the  way.  But  on 
looking  forward,  he  saw  Colonel  Regnard 
coming  down  the  street.  This  officer  still 
wore  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a  broad  black 
plaster  on  his  forehead. 


"  Good  evening.  Colonel,"  cried  RasinskL 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  head  of  the 
column  ?" 

"  Ah !  friend  Rasinski.  How  goes  it  ?" 
replied  Regnard.  "  I  am  happy  to  see  you 
well,  although  I  knew  before  from  the  report 
that  you  had  been  saved  from  the  carnage  of 
that  horrid  engagement.  What  stops  us  ? 
Nothing  but  a  broken  bridge  over  the  Moskwa, 
which  will  be  immediately  repaired.  But," 
added  he,  beckoning  his  friend,  when  he  con- 
tinued the  conversation  in  an  inaudible  tone. 

Bernard,  who  with  his  keen  eye  always  saw 
through  the  meaning  of  another,  remarked  a 
strange  agitation  in  Rasinski's  features. 
Even  Regnard's  countenance  underwent  a 
foreboding  change.  Something  extraordinary 
or  dangerous  must  have  happened,  and  of 
this  he  was  informing  Rasinski.  But  their 
conversation  lasted  only  three  minutes  when 
Regnard  continued  his  way.  With  gloomy 
brow  Rasinski  turned  to  his  men.  He 
seemed  on  the  point  of  communicating  what 
he  had  heard  from  the  Colonel,  when  the 
colunm  was  again  set  in  motion,  and  as  is 
always  the  case  after  a  stoppage,  had  to  ad- 
vance quickly.  Soon  they  reached  the  stream 
of  the  Moskwa  ;  the  bridge  had  been  so  im- 
perfectly repaired  that  they  preferred  riding 
through  the  flat  river.  Bernard  observed  that 
Rasinski  looked  with  excited  attention  at  the 
houses  and  streets  the  nearer  they  came  to 
the  real  city.  Finally  they  reached  the  walls 
which  enclosed  it. 

"  Here  the  streets  are  wider  and  the  houses 
larger,"  said  Bernard.  "  Those  buildings 
ahead  look  like  palaces.  1  think  we  shaJl 
now  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  long 
beards  and  pretty  girls  of  the  place." 

"  The  contrary  is  what  I  fear,"  said  Ra- 
sinski, turning  around  and  speaking  in  a  low, 
but  very  concerned  tone.  "According  to 
Colonel  Regnard's  information,  the  whole 
city  is  as  desolate  as  the  large  cemetery  we 
passed  on  entering." 

These  words,  designed  for  those  nearest  to 
him,  filled  all  with  cold  terror. 

"  How ! — Impossible  !"  exclaimed  Jaromir ; 
"  that  would  be  a  signal  for  a  renewal  of  the 
war — for  the  most  resolute  resistance,  even 
after  we  had  reached  the  heart  of  the  em- 
pire." 

"  That  is  indeed  to  be  feared.  The  fore- 
bodings are  now  being  fulfilled  which  gloomily 
rose  in  my  mind  on  first  entering  old  Russia. 
We  have  no  longer  to  fear  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander and  his  armies — we  have  no  longer  to 
fight  with  them,  but  against  an  immense  popu- 
lation, burning  with  the  fury  which  fanaticism 
kindles  in  the  hearts  of  man.  Deeply  sunk  as 
they  are  in  superstition — slavish  in  obedience 
to  tiieir  Gods  as  to  their  sovereign,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  persuade  them  that  we  are 


166 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


not  come  to  destroy  their  altars — to  plunder 
their  churches — to  dishonor  their  women. 
It  will  no  longer  be  a  war  between  two  pow- 
ers, where  the  decision  is  made  on  the  battle- 
field, or  in  the  council  of  ministers ;  no,  a 
whole  people  arms  itself  against  us — a  peo- 
ple who  curse  us  as  the  scum  of  hell.  The 
single  is  the  enemy  of  the  single  ; — hatred 
is  implanted  in  the  breast  of  the  wife  and 
the  boy.  There  is  no  longer  a  noble,  majes- 
tic struggle  of  thoughts,  nonor,  or  glory,  but 
all  degenerates  into  horrible  murder,  strife 
and  bloodshed,  where  victory  and  defeat  are 
equally  terrible." 

A  gloomy  fire  lighted  his  eye  as  he  spoke ; 
his  high  forehead  was  drawn  into  deep  folds, 
and  profound  grief  contracted  his  lips.  Ber- 
nard looked  at  him  fixedly.  The  beauty — 
the  noble  solemnity  of  his  manly  face  made 
him  for  a  moment  forget  why  these  clouds 
had  gathered  over  it  in  so  earnest  a  majesty. 
Really,  he  thought  within  himself,  man  is. 
most  beautiful  when  a  noble  pain  from  the 
depth  of  his  heart  shines  through  the  light 
cover  of  the  eye  upon  his  face.  For  this 
reason  tlie  ancients  presented  their  heroes  in 
those  earnest  atlitudes.  Even  in  the  image 
of  their  Gods  the  slight  breathing  of  sorrow 
appears  which  ennobles  and  beautifies  the 
features." 

The  streets  through  which  they  passed  made 
a  strange  impression  :  alive  with  the  clang  of 
war,  they  yet  were  deadly  still,  for  the  houses 
on  either  hand  stood  like  silent  tombs,  whence 
no  sound  or  sign  of  life  proceeded.  Not  a 
single  chimney  smoked.  The  cupolas  of  the 
cathedral  glittered  in  shining  gold,  encircled 
with  wreaths  of  green  ;  the  pillars  of  palaces 
towered  in  lofty  magnificence.  But  the  glo- 
ries of  this  noble  architecture  resembled  the 
dismal  finery  of  a  corpse  laid  out  in  state  for 
a  last  melancholy  exhibition,  so  mute,  so 
rigid  was  all  it  enclosed.  This  mixture  of 
the  wanton  splendor  of  life  with  the  pro- 
found stillness  and  solitude  of  death  was  so 
painful  that  it  oppressed  the  hearts  of  those 
rough  warriors,  who  as  yet,  however,  w.ere 
far  from  suspecting  the  terrible  truth. 

For  two  hours  the  troops  had  perambulated 
this  stony  desert,  in  whose  labyrinthine  mazes 
they  became  ever  more  deeply  involved. 
Their  progress  was  of  the  slowest,  for  the 
King  of  Naples,  slillrefusing  to  believe  what 
each  moment  rendered  more  apparent,  was  in 
constant  expectation  of  a  surprise,  and  could 
not  banish  the  idea  that  the  foe  cunningly 
inveigled  him  into  this  confused  and  treach- 
erous network  of  streets  and  lanes  in  order  the 
better  suddenly  to  assail  him.  He  therefore 
sent  strong  detachments  into  every  side-street 
to  seek  the  enemy  supposed  to  lurk  there. 
None  was  detected.  A  dreadful  stillness 
reigned  in  the  huge  city,  where  erst  the  din 


of  traffic  deafened  every  ear.  There  waa 
heard  but  the  dull,  hollow  hoof-tramp  of  the 
horses,  and  the  jar  of  the  weapons  dismally 
reverberated  from  the  tall,  dead  walls ;  eo 
that  when  the  column  halted  complete  silence 
spread  like  a  shroud  over  the  awe-stricken 
host.  For  the  soldier  was  infected  with  the 
gloom  of  the  scene,  so  that,  although  enter- 
ing the  hostile  capital,  no  cry  of  victory  or 
shout  of  joy  escaped  him;  bat  grave  and  si- 
lent, scrutinizing  with  astonished  eye  the 
surrounding  edifices,  in  vain  quest  of  a  trace 
of  life,  he  entered  the  metropolis  of  the  old 
Czars. 

Now  the  walls  and  pinnacles  of  the  Krem- 
lin rose  in  dark  majesty  above  the  intruders' 
heads.  For  the  first  time  a  refreshing  sound 
was  heard — a  confused  jumble  of  human 
voices  and  warlike  stir.  It  was  a  party  of 
the  inhabitants,  collected  in  a  dark  swarm 
round  a  train  of  carts  conveying  provisions 
and  wounded  men,  who  had  not  been  soon 
enough  got  out  of  the  city.  A  few  Cossacks, 
left  behind  to  escort  them,  spurred  their  ac- 
tive little  horses  and  quickly  disappeared  in 
the  maze  of  streets,  uninjured  by  the  bullets 
sent  after  them.  Suddenly,  from  the  Krem- 
lin, at  whose  doors  the  French  had  now  ar- 
rived, issued  a  horrible  uproar  of  howling 
voices.  Rasinski,  at  the  noise  of  the  firing, 
had  galloped  to  the  head  of  the  column,  fol- 
lowed by  Bernard,  to  ascertain  its  cause ; 
and  even  his  manly  heart,  long  accustomed  to 
sounds  and  perils  of  every  description,  beat 
quickly  at  the  ghastly  tumult.  His  eye  fol- 
lowed the  direction  given  by  his  ear,  and  he 
beheld,  upon  the  Kremlin's  walls,  a  group  of 
hideous  figures,  both  men  and  women,  furi- 
ously gesticulating,  and  evidently  resolved  to 
defend  the  entrance  to  the  holy  fortress. 
The  women's  tangled  and  dishevelled  hair, 
the  wild  bristling  beards  of  the  men,  the  dis- 
torted features  and  frantic  gestures  of  all, 
their  horrible  cries,  and  rags,  and  filth,  and 
barbarous  weapons,  composed  a  picture 
frightful  beyond  expression. 

"  What !"  cried  Rasinski,  with  a  start, 
"  has  hell  sent  against  us  ifs  most  hideous  d&> 
mons  ?" 

"  Are  they  men  or  spectres  ?"  inquired  the 
shuddering  Bernard. 

Again  the  grisly  band  set  up  their  wild  and 
horrid  shriek,  and  shots  were  tired  from  the 
wall  into  the  compact  mass  of  soldiers. 
The  King  of  Naples  waved  a  white  handker- 
chief in  sign  of  truce,  and  called  to  Rasin- 
ski to  tell  the  people  in  their  own  language 
that  no  harm  should  be  done  to  them  if  they 
abandoned  their  useless  and  desperate  oppo- 
sition.  Rasinski  rode  forward,  but  scarcely 
had  he  uttered  the  first  word  of  peace,  when 
his  voice  was  drowned  in  a  horrid  yell,  whilst 
the  women  furiously  beat  their  breasts  and 


5 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


159 


tore'their  hair.  Once  more  Rasinski  called 
to  them  to  yield.  Thereupon  a  woman  of 
colossal  stature,  whose  loosened  hair  fell 
wildly  on  her  shoulders,  sprang  upon  a  turret 
of  the  wall. 

"  Dog !"  she  cried,  "  with  my  teeth  will 
I  rend  thee,  like  a  hungry  wolf  her  prey  ! 
Robber !  thou  shalt  be  torn  like  the  hunter 
who  despoils  the  she-bear  of  her  cubs ! 
Curse  upon  ye,  murderers  of  our  sons  and 
husbands  !  Curse  upon  ye,  spoilers  of  our 
cities !  A  triple  curse  upon  the  godless 
crew,  who  defile  our  holy  altars,  and  scoff 
the  Almighty  with  a  devil's  tongue !  Woe 
shall  be  your  portion,  worse  your  sufferings 
than  those  of  the  damned  in  the  sulphur-pit ! 
Curses,  eternal  curses  upon  ye  all ! 

Rasinski  shuddered.  This  menacing 
figure,  although  fearful  to  behold,  excited  not 
loathing.  Wide  robes  of  black  and  grey 
shrouded  the  person  of  the  Pythoness ;  a  blood- 
red  cloth,  half-cap,  half-turban,  was  twined 
around  her  head.  Her  grizzled  hair  fluttered 
in  the  wind,  her  glittering  eye  rolled  wildly 
in  its  orbit,  whilst  her  open  mouth  poured 
forth  curses,  and  her  upraised  hands  appealed 
to  heaven  to  fulfil  them. 

Summoning  all  his  strength,  Rasinski  once 
more  shouted,  in  his  lion-like  voice — 

"  Madmen  !  do  you  reject  mercy  ?" 

Another  wild  howl,  accompanied  with 
threatening  gestures,  drowned  his  words. 
By  a  sign  he  warned  the  King  that  all  was 
in  vain,  and  Murat  gave  orders  to  burst  open 
the  door.  The  artillery  was  already  unlim- 
bered,  and  three  shots  whose  thunder  re- 
sounded fearfully  in  the  empty  city,  crashed 
through  the  barrier,  which  broke  and  shiv- 
ered at  the  shock.  As  it  opened,  a  dense 
throng  of  the  mad  Russians  streamed  out, 
and  dashed  headlong  into  the  French  ranks. 
The  invaders  would  fain  have  spared  them, 
for  they  were  too  few  to  prompt  a  powerful 
foe  to  needless  bloodshed  ;  but  the  fanatical 
patriotism  of  the  infuriates  made  mercy 
impossible.  Like  ferocious  beasts,  they  threw 
themselves  upon  their  foes,  thinking  only  of 
destroying  all  they  could.  One  raging  mad- 
man, armed  with  a  tree-branch,  fashioned  into 
a  huge  club,  struck  down  two  Frenchmen, 
and  with  a  few  agile  leaps  was  close  to  the 
King  of  Naples — as  usual  foremost  in  dan- 
ger— when  Rasinski  sprang  forward  and  cut 
at  him  with  his  sabre.  But  the  blow  fell 
flat ;  with  the  fury  of  a  goaded  hound,  the 
wounded  man  sprang  upon  the  Count,  drag- 
ged him  with  giant  strength  from  his  saddle, 
hurled  him  to  the  ground,  and  threw  himself 
upon  him.  In  a  moment  Bernard  was  off  his 
horse,  and  grappling  the  lunatic,  who  strove 
^0  throttle  Rasinski,  pulled  him  violently 
backwards.  A  French  officer  sprang  to  his 
assistance.    With  the  greatest  difficulty  they 


unlocked  the  fierce  grasp  in  which  the  Rus- 
sian held  Rasinski ;  and  when  this  was  done 
the  wretch  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  strove  to 
use  them  on  his  prostrated  opponent.  But 
Rasinski  had  now  an  arm  at  liberty,  and 
when  his  furious  foe  advanced  his  head  to 
bite,  he  struck  him  with  his  clenched  fist  so 
severe  a  blow  in  the  mouth,  that  a  thick  dark 
stream  of  blood  gushed  over  his  breast  and 
face.  Nevertheless,  the  barbarian  yielded  not, 
but  made  head  against  the  three  men  with  all 
the  prodigious  strength  of  his  muscular  body, 
until  a  bullet  from  the  pistol  of  a  dragoon, 
who  coolly  put  the  muzzle  to  his  breast  and 
shot  him  through  the  heart,  laid  him  lifeless 
on  the  ground. 

Rasinski  and  Bernard  shuddered  at  this 
struggle ;  it  was  too  much  like  the  true 
butchering  of  the  barbarians,  and  must  na- 
turally fill  a  noble,  manly  breast  with  disgust. 

Meanwhile  the  others,  who  still  resisted, 
were  partly  cut  down,  or  with  despairing 
howls  had  taken  to  flight.  It  did  not  seem 
worth  while  to  pursue  them,  therefore  they 
were  permitted  to  disperse  through  the  deso- 
late streets  of  the  city,  and  the  King  of  Na- 
ples continued  the  march  with  his  men. 

It  now  became  more  necessary  than  ever 
to  use  the  greatest  caution  in  proceeding 
through  the  labyrinth  of  streets.  The  sol- 
dier who  saw  all  these  rich  houses  and  pa- 
laces abandoned  by  their  proprietors,  natu- 
rally directed  his  thoughts  to  the  booty  which 
he  hoped  soon  to  gain.  Many  tried  to  leave 
their  ranks,  but,  as  an  example  to  the  rest, 
a  general  promptly  shot  with  his  own  hand  a 
dragoon  who  was  slipping  away  into  another 
street. 

Rasinski  received  orders  to  occupy  a 
large  palace,  the  appearance  of  which  indi- 
cated much  wealth  in  the  proprietor.  With 
the  few  men  he  had  left  to  him,  and  a  batta- 
lion of  riflemen  for  support,  he  separated  from 
the  corps  of  the  King  of  Naples,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  town  formed  a  camp.  He  for- 
mally took  possession  of  the  palace  and  the 
surrounding  houses,  with  no  living  being  to 
oppose.  Boleslaus  received  orders  to  take  out 
of  the  houses  all  such  things  as  might  serve 
for  clothing  or  food  to  the  soldiers. 

Thus  the  troops  for  the  present  established 
an  orderly  bivouac  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
or  ratlier  square,  opposite  the  palace.  In  this 
building  Rasinski  established  his  head-quar- 
ters, and  Louis  and  Bernard  were  installed 
in  their  duties  of  service. 


160 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


CHAPTER  LIL 

The  mansion  which  Rasinski  and  his  two 
young  friends  occupied  was  of  antique  and 
noble  structure.  The  gate  was  high,  vaulted, 
and  strongly  mounted  with  iron ;  it  had  been 
necessary  to  force  it  open,  on  account  of  its 
being  bolted  from  the  inside,  a  sign  that  there 
were  either  people  still  in  the  building,  or 
that  they  had  fled  through  the  garden.  The 
latter  seemed  the  most  probable.  When  the 
two  winding  stairs,  which  from  both  sides 
of  the  hall  conducted  into  wide  corridors  on 
the  second  floor,  were  ascended,  doors  lead- 
ing to  a  long  line  of  rooms  and  saloons  were 
discovered.  They  appeared  to  be  of  a  splen- 
dor and  richness  which,  even  in  Russia, 
could  not  be  common  ;  but  the  furniture,  the 
form  of  the  mirrors,  the  papering,  and  gild- 
ing proved  that  the  decorations  had  been 
owned  and  used  by  at  least  the  last  progeni- 
tors of  the  present  proprietors. 

In  the  room  adjoining  the  stairs  Louis  and 
Bernard  arranged  the  office.  To  the  right 
of  this  was  a  spacious  saloon,  and  next  to 
that  a  smaller  one,  which  Rasinski  arranged 
for  himself,  and  which  seemed  to  have  been 
a  kind  of  boudoir.  To  the  left  of  the  office 
Louis  and  Bernard  chose  their  sleeping  apart- 
ments, consisting  of  two  large  rooms. 

It  was  night.  In  the  streets  large  watch- 
fires  burned  briskly,  with  the  men  lying 
around  in  bivouac.  Rasinski  had  gone  down 
to  inspect  the  troops  and  to  provide  for  their 
wants.  Bernard's  steps  were  directed  to  the 
taking  a  survey  of  the  wings  of  the  building. 
Louis  was  sitting  in  the  half  dark  room  he 
had  chosen  for  his  dwelling.  In  the  midst 
of  the  evening  dusk,  of  the  reflected  light  of 
fires  on  the  windows,  of  the  gloomy  sound  of 
confused  voices,  and  the  clattering  of  arms, 
Louis  had  given  himself  up  to  his  dreams. 
The  beautiful  pictures  of  past  times  passed 
like  brilliant  apparitions  before  his  mind's 
eye.  Since  the  intelligence  of  his  mother's 
death  this  was  the  first  solitary,  calm  hour 
which  tlie  busy  movements  of  war  had  given 
him.  A  gloomy  melancholy  overspread  his 
soul.  Leaning  his  head  upon  one  arm  of  the 
chair  he  sat  plunged  in  reverie,  and  thought- 
lessly his  eye  passed  over  the  high,  vaulted 
room.  Thus  he  had  not  remarked  Bernard's 
entrance,  remaining  standing  in  the  half  open 
door,  looking  at  him.  But,  through  the  twi- 
light, the  latter  saw  tears  rolling  down  Louis' 
cheek,  and  the  sparkling  of  the  fire  reflected 
in  them. 

"  So,  plunged  in  thought,  brother  ?"  said  he, 
addressing  him, 

"  Alas  !  Bernard,"  said  Louis,  "  is  it  you  ? 
Yes,  I  am  indeed  oppressed  by  gloomy 
thoughts.  How  can  a  human  being  feel 
otherwise  in  this  terrible  place  ?" 


f  "  Hem  !"  observed  Bernard  ;  "  neither  is 
my  heart  a  cornucopia  of  pleasure ;  and  if 
with  my  recollection^  I  play  latema  magica, 
the  devil  and  his  grandmother  pass  along  the 
wall.  But,  as  to  this  place  here,  I  must  tell 
you  that  it  is  haunted." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  We  are  not  alone  in  this  house,  I  can 
swear." 

"What  grounds  have  you  for  this  suspicion?" 

"  Several.  I  went  through  the  long  corri- 
dors towards  the  wing  of  the  building  adjoin- 
ing the  garden.  Taking  hold  of  the  latches 
of  the  doors,  I  found  them  all  locked  except 
one.  This  I  passed  through,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  a  comfortable  warmth  there.  I 
looked  around  and  found  myself  in  a  kind  of 
kitchen,  where  there  were  still  ashes  on  the 
hearth.  The  ashes  were  warm.  Yes,  I  even 
discovered,  on  poking  among  them  with  my 
sabre,  that  coals  were  still  glowing." 

"  The  occupants  were  probably  here  as 
late  as  this  morning." 

"  So  I  thought ;  but,  suddenly  I  heard  a 
noise  beneath  me,  as  if  something  heavy  had 
fallen.  That  astonished  me.  I  hurried  to 
the  corridor  again  and  discovered  a  small  stair- 
case which  leads  into  a  lower  story,  where  I 
again  found  a  corridor,  containing  a  suite  of 
rooms,  with  locked  doors.  I  tried  to  open — 
to  break  them — but  they  were  too  firmly 
bolted.  I  knocked,  called,  shouted,  but  re- 
ceived no  answer.  Finally,  tired  of  all  this, 
I  went  away.  But,  as  I  ascended  the  small 
stairs  again,  I  heard  something  rustle,  and 
at  the  same  time,  steps,  as  of  a  female  foot 
Assured  that  my  ear  did  not  deceive  me,  I 
hurried  up  ;  and,  although  I  looked  around 
everywhere,  yet  I  could  not  discover  the 
least  thing.  Soon  I  saw  something  white 
shining  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  door  of 
the  kitchen.  I  took  it  up.  See,  it  is  a  rib- 
bon ;  and  I  will  swear  a  sacred  oath  it  was 
not  there  just  before.  I  looked  around  to  dis- 
cover the  fair  one  who  had  lost  it,  but  in  vain. 
All  remained  silent — all  was  locked.  But  I 
will  not  say  whether  it  was  a  good  or  evil 
spirit,  a  spectre,  or  even  the  famous  White 
Lady,  who  haunts  these  corridors." 

"  How  strange  !"  said  Louis,  thoughtfully. 
"  Could  the  unfortunate  inmates  be  hidden, 
for  fear  of  injury  ?" 

"  Possibly.  Yet  I  am  fonder  of  spectres, 
enchanted  ladies  who  are  panting  for  liberty, 
walled-up  nuns,  whose  souls  can  find  no 
rest,  and  who  must  walk  in  these  halls. 
About  midnight  I  shall  pursue  a  second  re- 
connoitring—.will  you  be  of  the  party  ?" 

"  Most  willingly;  if  your  own  exhaustion 
does  not  engage  you  to  do  something  better," 
said  Louis,  smiling. 

"  What !  are  you  sitting  here  in  the  dark, 
my  friends  ?"  exclaimed  Rasinski,  who  at 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA- 


I€l 


this  moment  entered.  "  It  is  time  to  have 
candles  Ht,  and  fire  also,  for  in  these  halls  the 
evenings  are  cold." 

He  ordered  his  groom  to  bring  a  light  and 
kindle  a  fire  in  the  small  room  which  he  oc- 
cupied. This  was  the  only  small  room  in 
the  house  which  had  a  chimney,  and  which 
of  an  evening  gave  a  more  comfortable 
warmth  than  the  ponderous  stoves  in  the 
other  apartments.  •  » 

"  I  have  just  received  letters  for  myself 
and  you,"  continued  Rasinski ;  "  let  us  go 
and  read  them  together,  then  relate  to  one 
another  what  each  of  our  friends  writes  us 
from  home.  It  is  a  pleasant  omen  to  me  to 
have  received  a  welcome  salute  already,  on 
the  first  day  of  odr  residence  in  this  capi- 
tal." . 

Rasinski's  groom  lit  a  lamp,  and  shortly 
the  fire  burned  brightly.  Rasinski  now 
handed  to  Louis  two  letters,  of  different 
dates,  but  which  had  arrived  at  the  same 
time — a  circumstance  not  uncommon  with 
field-mails. 

Bernard  whistled  and  stirred  the  fire  with 
the  tongs,  while  Louis  and  Rasinski  read. 
"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  have  no  correspond- 
ents," he  observed  ;  "  there  is  then  no  post- 
age to  pay,  no  answers  to  make,  nor  even  to 
read."     He  continued  to  whistle. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  are  happier  than  we,"  ex- 
claimed Louis,  suddenly,  and  with  violence 
dropping  the  hand  in  which  he  held  the  letter 
he  had  just  read.  "  From  receiving  such  let- 
ters as  these  may  Heaven  spare  you  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked 
Bernard,  starting  from  his  seat. 

"  I  can  suspect  it,  after  what  my  sister 
writes  to  me,"  said  Rasinski ; "  it  is  a  name- 
less villany  ;  but  they  shall  not  succeed." 

"  Black  as  night  and  {Poisonous  as  the 
rattlesnake,"  exclaimed  Louis,  almost  be- 
side himself.  "  And  for  my  jp,ke  the  unpro- 
.tected  must  suffer  such  au  outrage  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?  Speak,  in  Satan's  name," 
said  Bernard,  with  flashing  eyes,  for  he  sus- 
pected something  of  the  truth. 

"  Read,  read !"  said  Louis,  handing  him  the 
letter. 

Bernard  hastily  took  it,  thinking  to  read  it 
quickly  over,  but  as  hastily  as  he  had  taken 
it  he  cast  it  away,  and  exclaimed,  "  There 
are  too  many  lines ;  they  cross  each  other 
like  a  heap  of  poisonous  spiders.  Tell  it  me 
in  two  words,  for  I  have  not  patience  to 
Bwallow  the  poison  slowly." 

"  It  is  revolting  {o  all  in  whose  breast 
beats  a  manly  heart,"  said  Rasinski,  as  he 
paced  the  room  with  rapid  strides.  "  The 
villains  who  pursue  you  have  found  the  un- 
happy sister; — chance,  or  their  infernal 
tricks  have  discovered  the  secret,  and " 

•*  She  is  in  prison  ?"  cried  Bernard,  vio- 
11 


lently  interrupting  him,  whilp  the  fire  of  rage 
flamed  in  his  eye. 

"  No,  happily  not,"  continued  Rasinski ; 
"  but  the  wretch  has  made  her  the  most  re- 
volting proposals,  and  as  a  price,  the  bro- 
ther's head " 

"  Say  no  more,  Colonel !"  exclaimed  Ber- 
nard, in  a  half-commanding,  half-praying 
tone.  "  Must  the  brother  hear  it  twice  ?"  At 
the  same  time  he  embraced  Louis,  and  with 
convulsive  energy  pressed  him  to  his  breast. 
"  Oh,  the  charming  rose  !  What  pains,  what 
horror  must  ijer  loving  heart  have  felt,  when 
the  poisonous  worm  wound  itself  up  to  her  ! 
But  we  must  thank  Grod  that  she  is  saved  ! 
for  I  see  by  your  looks  that  she  is,  or  you 
would  not  stand  here  thus.  Still  my  inmost 
soul  trembles.     Dear  Louis !" 

And  anew  they  embraced.  Rasinski  laid 
his  hands  upon  their  shoulders  and  said  with 
emotion^  "  We  have  cause  to  thank  God !" 

"  Let  us  now  read  what  she  writes  to  you," 
interrupted  Bernard,  with  a  voice  full  of  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  have  not  opened  ihe  second  letter  yet," 
said  Louis ;  "  the  first  has  put  me  into  too 
powerful  an  excitement.  Perhaps  this  will 
give  some  explanation." 

"  Let  us  hear." 

"  Dresden,  August  1  9th. 
"  Dear  Brother  : — What  a  time  this  is ! 
Hours  are  now  as  fruitful  of  events  as  former- 
ly were  years.  We  left  Toplitz  the  morning 
following  the  scene,  which  on  the  same  even- 
ing I  hurriedly  informed  you  of.  This  night 
we  passed  in  the  village  of  our  aunt ;  in  the 
morning  we  all,  unobserved,  drove  hither. 
On  her  death-bed,  mother  spoke  to  me  of  a 
secret ;  but  pain  and  grief  then  so  overpow- 
ered me  that  I  did  not  remark  what  she 
said ;  for  what  could  then  be  important  to 
me  in  this  world  ?  And  yet — but  hear. 
Mother  poihted  out  to  me  that  a  secret  drawer 
of  her  writing-desk  contained  papers  of  im- 
portance. O,  Louis  !  with  what  emotion  did 
I  read  them  !  As  soon  as  they  can  possibly 
be  forwarded  in  a  safe  way,  you  shall  re- 
ceive all  the  documents  touching  this  dread- 
ful story ;  now  I  can  only  give  you  an 
extract,  which  the  flying  minutes  permit  me. 
Our  real  name  is  not  Rosen  ;  our  father  was 
called  Steinfels,  and  owned  an  estate  in 
Franconia.  His  confiding  heart  was  his 
misfortune.  In  March,  1793,  he  visited  a 
friend  of  his  youth,  called  Waldheim,  who 
had  been  an  officer,  but  having  been  taken 
prisoner  by  the  French,  then  lived  in  Stras- 
bourg, whither  his  wife  had  followed  him — a 
woman,  whose  charms,  according  to  our 
mother's  description,  were  beyond  all  com- 
parison. A  Frenchman,  Rumigny,  insulted 
this  lady  by  dishonorable  proposals."    ,  ■    « 


169 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


Here  Louis  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  Rasin- 
eki  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  an  or- 
derly, who  transmitted  to  him  some  informa- 
tion. But  on  receiving  a  sign  he  immediately 
continued : 

"  When  they  were  rejected  he  sought  re- 
venge in  the  blackest  calumnies.'  The  in- 
sulted husband,  who  knew  his  faithful  wife, 
heard  of  this.  He  ciiallenged  the  calumnia- 
tor, forced  him  to  a  duel ;  and  father  was  tlie 
second.  But  the  wretch,  who  had  several 
companions  with  him,  fired  against  the  rules 
of  the  duel,  and  laid  the  ill-fated  Waldheim 
on  the  ground.  Our  father  was  beside  him- 
self; but  in  the  moment,  care  to  save  perhaps 
the  life  of  the  fallen  was  more  important 
than  the  forcibly  suppressed  feeling  of  re- 
venge. Our  father  could  not  immediately  pun- 
ish the  villains.  His  friend  died  in  a  few 
moments.  Our  parent  challenged  the  mur- 
derer ;  he  was  answered  in  scorn.  A  human 
feeling  now  overpowered  him — Loufb !  who 
could  condemn  him — he  sought  for  the  wretch, 
to  take  revenge,  or  force  him  to  fight.  His 
faithful  servant,  Willhofen, accompanied  him; 
but  the  villain  had  received  warning,  so  en- 
ticed his  antagonist  into  the  net.  By  scorn 
he  provoked  him,  father  lost  his  self- 
cimmaiid,  sword  in  hand  he  rushed  iipnn 
his  antagonist,  but  was  disarmed,  and  taken 
prisoner  along  with  the  faithful  Willhoren. 
To  destroy  his  victim  with  more  certuinty, 
the  villain  endeavored  to  represent  him  as  a 
spy,  a  traitor  to  France,  who  stood  in  the 
service  of  another  power.  He  was  sent  to 
Paris.  Tlie  guillotine  threatened  him.  But 
VVillhofon,  who  participated  in  all  his  mise- 
ries, found  in  JLhe  goaler  a  countryman  from 
Alsace.  Thiis  latter  favored  their  escape, 
and  they  both  got  to  Havre,  on  board  a  Dutch 
vessel.  From  thence,  father  first  wrote 
to  motlipr,  informed  lier  of  all  that  had  hap- ' 
pened,  and  conjured  her  to  go  immediately  to 
Hamburgh,  where  he  would  meet  her.  She 
went  thither,  and  in  vain  awaited  the  arrival 
of  her  husband.  Days  and  weeks,  finally  a 
month  passed  hy,uiul  herdreadful  uncertainty 
did  not  end.  Meanwhile  she  was  irift)rmed, 
that  through  the  power  of  the  French  rulers, 
which  then  already  extended  everywhere, 
even  at  home,  a  proscnntion  had  been  com- 
menced against  our  father  for  murder,  and 
that  he  was  called  upon  to  stand  before  his 
judges.  What  more  shall  I  tell  yoi\?  He 
never  returned,  his  property  was  confis- 
cated, and  when  the  French  took  posses- 
sion of  Franconia,  his  name  was  declared 
infamous,  and  himself  set  down  as  a  traitor  on 
the  lists  of  the  Parisian  police.  This  in- 
duced our  mother  to  take  the  name  of  Rosen, 
and  retire  with  us  to  Dresden,  where  her 
•  sister,  our  aunt,  lived  a  widow.  A  thousand 
other  particulars!  would  tell  you, my  dearest 


brother,  if  at  this  moment  it  could  be  done 
abo"e  all,  the  boundless  love  and  care,  which 
together  with  other  reasons,  induced  our 
mother  to  forbear  communicating  to  her 
children  the  secret  hanging  over  the  head 
of  our  father.  But  a  day  will  come  when 
the  sisterly  breast  can  freely  and  unreservedly 
pour  itself  into  your  heart.  Now  grief 
weighs  me  down.  In  another  quarter  of  an 
hour  I  leave  for  Warsaw,  with  the  Countess 
Micelska,  and  there  I  shall  be  safe  from  all 
persecution.  Oh,  if  you  only  were  safe 
too  !  But  the  horrors  of  war  still  threaten 
you  in  front,  and  black  treason  is  at  your  back. 
Oh,  Louis,  and  you  bear  a»ms  for  those  who 
brought  such  misery  upon  your  father  and 
your  country  !  I  do  not  reproach  you  ;  but 
can  misfortune  still  rise  higher  ?  can  we  sink 
deeper  into  dishonor  ?  My  warmest  prayers 
Idaily  send  to  heaven  in  your  behalf!  But 
from  my  inmost  soul  I  also  pray  for  the  libe- 
ration of  oUr  country  from  the  iron  yoke 
under  which  it  now  bends.  I  must  con- 
clude. Salute  your  friends  for  me,  Bernard — 
the  noble  Rasinski, — Alas  !  were  it  otherwise 
in  this  world!  Your  Mar-j." 

Surprise  and  emotion  almost*eprived  Louis 
of  power  to  read  the  letter  to  the  end.  Now 
only  it  was  that  he  plainly  and  clearly  re- 
collected some  of  the  earlier  events  of  his 
childhood — for  at  the  time  of  the  misfortune, 
he  was  five  years  of  age.  Now  only  when 
they  were  explained,  did  several  slight  allu- 
sions, hints  and  words  of  his  mother  about 
the  fate  of  his  father,  rise  like  brilliant  stars 
above  the  horizon  of  the  past.  But  much 
still  remained  veiled  in  dark  clouds!  Ra- 
sinski had  been  especially  moved  by  the  last 
words  of  the  letter,  touching  a  wound  in 
his  heart  of  which  even  Louis  had  no  suspi- 
cion. He  stood  leaning  with  his  arms  folded 
against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  chimney, 
and  gloomily  looking  down. 

Upon  Bernard  the  letter  seemed  to  have 
made  less  impression,  for  his  soul  was  still 
occupietl  with  the  contents  of  the  first.  He 
sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  playing  with 
his  ring,  and  turning  it  round  on  his  finger. 

"  In  tiie  first  moments  only,  my  good  Louis," 
he  commenced  after  a  pause,  "  such  informa- 
tion moves  us  greatly.  A  father  who  has  not 
been  heard  of  for  twenty  years  must  be 
considered  dead  ;  and  grief  for  one  who  has 
been  absent  such  a  length  of  time  is  not 
generally  lasting." 

•'  You  are  so  good  and  faithful,  Bernard," 
replied  Louis,  "  you  so  thoroughly  understand 
the  heart  of  your  friend,  do  you  not  know 
that  it  must  touch  and  agitate  him  to  hear 
that  perhaps  he  has  still  a  father,  who  may 
have  suffered  constant  misfortune,  boundless 
misery,  and  who  may  even  now  be  suJSer- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


163 


? 


If  you  were  in  such  a  situa- 


ing  still 
tion 

"  And  am  I  not  ?  Perhaps  I  have  a  father 
and  mother  still  in  this  world,  and  perhaps  I 
might  even  find  them  ;  but  I  assure  you  that 
I  shall  care  little  about  those  who  for  twenty 
years  have  cared  nothing  for  me.  It  is  cer- 
tainly different  with  you,  as  you  know  that 
your  father  did  not  abandon  you ;  you  lost 
him  early ;  and  everything  proves  that  he  was 
a  noble  gentleman." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that  you  have  still  parents 
living  ?"  said  Louis  in  astonishment. 

"  I  learnt  it  myself  only  two  years  ago,  in 
London,  when  my  foster-father  died  ;  but  at 
that  time  my  head  was  full  of  other  things — 
and  since  then  time  has  made  me  indifferent 
to  it.     By  this  ring  (he  threw  it  over  the 
table  to  Louis)  I  was  to  recognise  my  true 
parents  ;  and  yet  three  months  ago  I  should 
have  parted   with  it  freely  for  something 
dearer  to  me,  had  I  not  been  a  fool.     My 
foster-father,    whom    I    thought    my    own, 
was  a  poor  pastor  in  a  country  near*  Wurz- 
burg.     When  in  my  tenth  year  I  began  to 
draw  tolerably  well,  he  sent  me  to  his  brother, 
in  Dresden,  whom  you  know.     It  is  not  ne- 
cessary to  tftll  you  that  I  found  no  comfort 
with    this  harsh   old   Pliilistine.      Finally  I 
broke  the  chains  and  began  to  travel.    About 
this  time  my  foster-father,  the  priest,  died, 
and  his  brotlier  was  his  heir — that  is  to  say, 
he  received  the  papers  he  had  left.     Among 
them  was  one  which  he  sent  to  me  to  Lon- 
don.    With  his  own  hand  he  wrote  upon  it, 
something  like  the  following  : — '  One  even- 
ing, when  I  was  in  bed,  I  heard  the  bell  of 
my  door  violently  pulled.     The  housekeeper 
opened  it ;  a  boy,  about  five  years  old,  who 
could  not  possibly  reach  the  bell-string,  stood 
before  it  ;  it  was  you.    He  had  a  letter  in  his 
hand  addressed  to  me,  I  opened  it,  and  found 
a  note  for  two  thousand  florins  on  a  banker 
of  Frankfort.,  which  was  mine  on  condition 
that  I  would  educate  the  child  who  carried 
it — that  I  was  known  to  be  an  honest  man, 
deierviny;  of  this  confidence — and  that  some 
time  hence  enquiries  would  be  made  after  the 
child.     [  have  done  my  duty  according  to  my 
be?t  ability,  although   war  soon  afterwards 
deprived  me  of  what  I  had  received  for  the 
boy.     ilis  tiilent  for  painting  induced  me  to 
spiid   him  to  my  brother,  in  Dresden.     His 
linen  was  marked  with  the  letter  B. ;  in  con- 
sequence I  called  him  Bernard.     This,  and 
the  gold  weddi'>g-ring,  which  at  a  later  pe- 
riod was  accidentally  found  sewed  up  in  the 
boy's  dress,  and  which  bears  the  initials  B. 
W.,  are  the  only  signs  by  which  he  may  at 
so!ne   future    time   recognise   his   own   pa- 
rents.' 

'•  This  document  and  ring   was  sent  to 
London   by  my  uncle — or  at  least  by  him 


whom  I  always  considered  as  such — with  the 
order  that  I  should  either  there  or  at  home 
make  enquiries  after  my  real  parents.  Nei- 
ther was  there  anything  else  left  for  me  to 
do,  for  you  know  that  my  uncle  died  so  sud- 
denly, two  years  ago,  that  even  my  answer 
did  not  find  him  alive.  Thus  our  destinies 
are  the  same.  But  I  can  assure  you,  Louis, 
that  I  did  not  move  a  finger  for  the  purpose 
of  making  a  discovery.  What  can  I  do  with 
parents  who  have  not  cared  for  me  during 
my  life  ?  Rich  or  poor,  noble  or  abject,  it  is 
the  same  to  me  ;  love  they  could  never  have 
entertained.  With  you  it  is  certainly  other- 
wise— but  also  far  more  improbable — for 
what  reasonable  man  counts  upon  the  high- 
est number  in  the  lottery  ?  I  would  only  try 
to  find  out  the  rascal  Rumigny,  or  whatever 
his  name  is,  and  kill  him  perhaps.  But  your 
father  ; — twenty  years'  disappearance  is  tan- 
tamount to  dead." 

"  No,  Bernard,"  exclaimed  Louis,  "  I  can- 
not feel  thus.  Powerfully  the  hope  of  again 
finding  a  father  works  in  my  breast,  and  if  I 
should  succeed,  I  might  perhaps  make  the 
last  days  of  his  life  happy.  And  this  love  is 
nearer  to  me  than  revenge  upon  one  who  has 
perhaps  long  since  avenged  his  own  guilt. 
No,  I  hope  still !" 

"  That  hope  will  last  just  eight  days. 
During  the  next  few  months,  the  feeling  will 
rise  now  and  then ;  but  when  years  have 
passed,  and  all  remained  the  same,  you  will 
see  them  expire  like  an  unfed  flame." 

Meanwhile  Rasinski  had  taken  and  atten- 
tively examined  the  ring. 

"  Hem  !     What  letters,  did  you  say,  were 
inscribed  on  the  ring  ?" 
'B.  W." 

'•If,"  observed  Rasinski,  in  the  tone  of 
reprimand,  "  such  tender  ties  are  disregarded, 
then  certainly  it  is  impossible  to  follow  them! 
I  do  not  read  B.  W.,  but  plainly  L.  W.  on 
the  ring." 

"  Impossible  !"  replied  Bernard,  quickly 
seizing  the  ring,  and  holding  it  to  the  light. 
Delusion  of  hell  !"  he  exclaimed,  'suddenly 
turning  pale.  "  B.  W.  was  inscribed  on  my 
ring,  or  may  I  be  eternally  damned.  Do  yoii 
joke  with  me  ?"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  turn- 
ing to  Rasin.ski. 

"  How  can  you  think  it !"  said  the  latter, 
rising.  Louis  also  looked  at  his  friend  in 
the  greatest  agitation.  In  his  features  there 
was  aan  animation  he  had  never  seen  there 
before — his  composure  was  lost — he  seemed 
totally  overpowered  by  the  feelings  of  his 
breast. 

Suddenly  he  laughed  wildly  and  furiously. 
"  It  is  nothing,  I  say,  nothing.  One  of  the 
most  gigantic  accidents  of  chance,  about 
which  certainly  one  might  lose  one's  reason ! 
I  believe  fate  will  take  revenge  upon  me.    I 


164 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


did  not  believe  in  its  wonders  in  common 
life ;  now  it  scorns  me  with  them — ^but  almost 
too  cruelly  I  Ah  !"  and  he  pressed  his  hand 
before  his  eyes,  "who  can  now  tell  me 
whether  I  am  mocked  by  the  grinning  appa- 
ritions of  a  dream,  or  whether  reality  shows 
these  scornful  faces  to  me.  Take  hold  of 
me,  in  the  devil's  name !  shake  me  that  I  may 
awake  and  throw  off  the  weight  which 
threatens  to  crush  my  heart." 

"  Bernard,  dear  Bernard !"  said  Louis,  press- 
ing his  hands,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Compose  yourself,  recollect  yourself, 
and  speak.  What  unnerves  you  so  terri- 
bly ?" 

Like  one,  who  from  senseless  convulsions 
returns  to  life,  and  in  deadly  exhaustion  is 
unable  to  keep  his  balance,  Bernard  now  fell 
into  the  arms  of  his  friend. 


CHAPTER  LIIl. 

DuRiKG  the  first  evening  of  their  residence 
in  Moscow,  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus  were  sepa- 
rated from  their  friends,  as  their  presence 
to  control  the  soldiers  seemed  indispensable. 
But  when  the  bivouac  fires  were  burning,  and 
the  soldiers  had  arranged  themselves  as  well 
as  they  could,  and  through  the  care  of  Ra- 
sinski  had  been  sufficiently  provided  with 
provisions,  it  could  well  be  permitted  to  some 
leaders  to  leave  their  posts  for  a  short  time 
and  let  their  comrades  meanwhile  fill  their 
places.  Jaromir  did  so.  Although  he  had 
seen  and  experienced  much  already,  the  en- 
trance into  a  new  and  celebrated  capital  was 
still  an  event  which  charmed  and  moved  him 
in  diflferent  ways.  In  wonder  he  had  gazed 
upon  the  palaces,  the  long  streets,  the  large 
squares  ;  the  Kremlin,  with  its  towers  and 
battlements,  made  upon  him  a  powerful  im- 
,pression.  He  wished  to  walk  through  these 
streets,  to  visit  the  bivouacs  of  his  comrades, 
to  converse  with  them ;  in  short,  to  enjoy  the 
amusement  of  a  warrior's  leisure,  after  the 
long  exertions  he  had  been  subjected  to. 
Boleslaus  remarked  Jaromir's  aspirations, 
and  beini;  of  a  kind  disposition,  offered  to 
take  his  place,  even  before  Jaromir  had  asked 
him  to  do  so.  Arm  in  arm,  with  two  officers 
of  the  infantry  regiment,  put  under  Rasfhski's 
orders  for  the  time,  he  gaily  began  his  walk 
through  the  streets  of  the  wonderful  city, 
just  as  it  began  to  grow  dark. 

"  These  two  towers  here,  with  their  golden 
cupolas,  we  must  keep  in  sight,"  said  he  to 
his  companions  ;  "  they  will  show  us  our 
way  back." 

Lebrun  and  Lacoste,  his  companions,  were 


gay  and  merry  as  Jaromir  himself.  "  Marl- 
borottgh  s'en  va  en  guerre"  sang  Lebrun, 
with  a  pleasant  voice  and  agreeable  intona- 
tion, and  the  others  joined  him. 

Perambulating  several  streets,  in  which 
they  met  corps  of  artillery,  they  came  to  the 
Kremlin.  Here  large  bivouacs  were  esta- 
Wished,  The  "Young  Guard'' had  chosen 
this  place  for  their  camp. 

The  long  lines  of  pyramids,  formed  by 
guns  stacked  together,  shone  brilliantly  in  the 
reflection  of  the  watch-fires  which  had  been 
lit  along  the  streets.  The  soldier  is  always 
fond  of  decorating  his  camp- with  wariike 
emblems,  and  so  even  here  in  front  of  every 
battalion,  a  trophy  of  drums  and  eagles  had 
been  erected.  In  the  places  where  long 
streets  opened,  cannon  were  placed,  with 
burning  matches  sticking  in  the  ground  be- 
hind them.  For  the  amusement  of  the  men, 
music  was  heard  from  every  side.  But  there 
were  only  a  few  who  had  still  strength  and 
good  humor  enough  to  prefer  a  merry  dance — 
the  beloved  Francaise,  to  quiet  repose  on  the 
straw-covered  pavement.  On  the  whole,  the 
camp  presented  the  animated,  but  not  the 
merry  sight 'which  such  a  nomadical  town 
generally  gives,  especially  after  a  day  of  tri- 
umph. The  dresses  of  most  of  the  soldiers 
were  torn,  or  blackened  with  powder ;  the 
Guards  were  not  an  exception  either,  although 
they  had  nqt  fought  at  Borodino : — but  after- 
wards, when  Kutosow  again  took  a  fortified 
Dcsition  near  Krimskoy,  three*  miles  from 
Moscow,  they  honorably  participated  in  the 
battle.  Here  and  there  a  merry  song  was 
heard.  ;  but  most  of  the  bearded  warriors 
lay  wrapped  up  in  their  cloaks,  sleeping,  or 
carelessly  looking  into  the  fires,  beside  which 
their  smoking  cooking-pots  stood. 

"  Let  us  proceed  to  the  quay  where  those 
magnificent  houses  stand,"  said  Jaromir. 

There  were  soldiers  here  too.  It  was  the 
"  Old  Guard."  But  very  little  order  prevailed 
among  these  otherwise  excellently- drilled 
troops.  The  doors  of  the  houses  were  broken, 
and  the  privates  had  sought  their  comfort  in 
the  wide  halls ;  the  officers  v»ere  lolling  in 
the  windows  of  the  upper  stories.  The  sol- 
diers were  bringing  wood  and  straw ;  others 
brought  bedding,  carpets,  cushions,  bolsters, 
which  they  found  in  the  abandoned  houses, 
to  procure  for  themselves  comfortable  couch- 
es, for  the  soldiers  were  the  happy  heirs  of 
the  emigrants.  The  bivouac  presented  a 
striking,  almost  oriental  appearance,  from 
these  decorations ;  especially  as  there  were 
some  Mamelukes  of  the  Emperor,  with  long 
pipes  in  their  mouths,  comfortably  stretching 
themselves  on  a  magnificent  embroidered  red 
carpet  and  blue  bolsters,  which- they  had 
found  in  the  adjoining  palace. 

"  Hem  ! — you  have  provided    yourselves 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA- 


165 


comfortably,"  said  Lacoste ; "  the  guard  must 
certainly  have  a  preference.  But  no  one 
knows  whether  you  have  carried  the  bivouac 
into  the  house  or  the  house  into  the  bivouac. 
WhJ?  did  you  not  lie  down  on  the  cushions 
inside  ?" 

"  The  orders  are  for  a  bivouac,  '^wn  capi- 
'Jiine,"  replied  a  sergeant  with  brilliant  black 
iioustaches  ; "  yet  I  hope  it  will  not  last  long. 
\fter  all,  in  so  beautiful  a  night,   ca    ira 

"  Beautiful  night !  The  wind  appears  to 
iie  to  be  blowing  roughly  enough,"  replied 
*aromir. 

"  If  it  wrll  only  not  extinguish  the  fires," 
«plied  the  sergeaiit,  Jaughing, "  then  it  is 
.^ood." 

"  Rather  ss.y," observed  Le'jrun, "  if  it  only 
xJoes  not  increase  them.  Your  bivouacs,  friend, 
ere  not  the  most  orderly  betvreen  the  Ebro 
and  the  Moskwa,.  Finm  your  arrangements 
the  straw  might  burn  under  vou  during  the 
night,  when  all  sleep  and  the  watchers  kire 
drowsy."  * 

"  Indeed,"  said  Jaromir,  laughing,  "  vor^ 
would  do  it  nicely  were  you  to  burn  your  own 
winter  quarters  down.  Straw  and  hay  arc 
scattereu  here  like  powder." 

"Pshaw!  Straw  is  not  powder.  Wlicf 
easily  burns  is  also  easily  extinguished,"  re- 
turned the  sergeant. 

"  Not  always,"  replied  Lacoste  ;  "  with  a 
cigar  I  could  set  your  bivouac  on  fire,  but  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  in  flat  Moskwa  as 
much  water  as  it  would  take  to  extinguish  it 
again." 

"  We  shall  soon  have  order  established, 
mon  capiiainej'^  replied  the  sergeant,  bowing, 
while  the  officers  continued  their  way. 

"  Yet  I  am  surprised  that  this  is  permitted," 
observed  Jaromir,  "  for  it  is  really  danger- 
ous." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Lacoste,  shrugging  his 
shoulders ;  "  but  the  Emperor  is  not  hard 
towards  the  garde.  He  confides  too  much  in 
the  belief  that  they  are  all  veterans,  who  are 
well  acquainted  with  war  and  discipline,  and 
who  know  their  own  wants  so  well  that  they 
are  able  to  judge  what  is  best  to  be  done.  It 
is  so  on  the  march,  in  the  camp,  and  in  the 
"battle ;  but  you  know  well  tiiat  when  once 
the  day  of  repose  has  come  for  the  soldier, 
it  is  hard  to  get  him  to  work.  As  long  as  he 
is  occupied  it  goes  right,  and  you  can  heap 
upon  his  shoulders  as  much  as  he  can  bear  ; 
but  when  at  last  he  has  stretched  out  his 
tired  limbs  in  the  bivouac  of  a  conquered  ca- 
pital, the  devil  may  take  care  of  things,  for 
he  won't.  He  also  trusts  somewhat  to  good 
fortune.  His  consolation  is,  the  balls  which 
do  not  hit." 

During  this  conversation  they  walked  on. 
Every  new  step  they  took  would  have  aiforded 


a  picture  to  the  hand  of  an  experienced 
painter.  Here  an  old  warrior  lay  asleep,  as 
if  only  to  be  awakened  by  the  trump  of  the 
last  judgment,  not  feeling  that  the  soles  of 
his  boots  already  began  to  burn  at  the  fire. 
Jaromir  kindly  pushed  him  aside,  that  the 
poor  devil  might  not  finally  be  obliged  to  go 
barefooted.  There  was  a  sutler-woman  who, 
surrounded  by  a  set  of  merry  soldiers,  knowing 
how  to  combine  female  artfulness  with  pride 
of  honesty  in  her  trade,  served  many  at  a 
time.  Farther  off,  players,  singers,  dancers, 
and  near  to  them  a  group  of  comfortable 
chattering  old  grey-beards,  with  more  scars 
on  their  bodies  than  hairs  on  their  heads ; 
again,  a  sick  man  who,  with  tied-up  head, 
had  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him  and  thrown 
himself  upon  the  straw;  a  piper  who,  in  the  ^ 
habit  of  a  sans-culotte,  had  picturesquely  sat 
down  upon  a  drum  to  mend  his  own  breeches ; 
even  a  mother  with  a  two-year-old  boy  sat 
'  playing  with  her  children  by  the  fire.  It  was 
the  only  sweet  reward  for  that  faithfulness 
and  love  which  had  given  her  the  courage  to 
wander  through  these  immeasurable  deserts. 

Jaromir  was  in  the  act  of  passing  through 
a  crowd  of  soldiers,  who  stood  around  a  wa- 
gon loaded  with  rice,  to  receive  their  allow- 
ance, when  he  felt  his  coat  pulled  by  some 
one.  He  looked  around ;  it  was  a  nicely- 
dressed  jockey,  a  boy  who  appeared  to  be 
about  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  whose  presence 
in  camp  must  certainly  create  astonishment. 
An  English  hat,  with  a  broad  brim  and  a 
black  plume,  adorned  his  head  and  half  lo- 
vered  his  face. 

"  What  do  you  want,  boy  ?"  asked  Jaro- 
mir, surprised. 

The  boy  bent  his  head  a  little,  as  if 
abashed,  and  said,  "  I  am  desired  to  beg  you 
to  follow  me." 

Jaromir's  astonishment  increased  when  he 
looked  closer  at  the  boy.  The  dusk,  the  red 
glow  of  the  walch-fires,  and  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  brim  of  the  ha.t,  gave  a  particular  ro- 
mantic charm. to  the  face.  The  features  ex- 
cited lively  recollections  in  Jaromir's  breast 
but  to  which  he  could  give  no  distinct  direc- 
tion. Siill  he  must  have  seen  that  boy  before 
somewhere. 

"Follow!"  he  repeated.       -        - 

"  Willingly — but  whither  ?" 

"  After  me,"  said  the  boy,  who  had  already 
half-turned  around  and  endeavored  to  get 
out  of  the  crowd.  Jaromir  hurried  after, 
fearing  that  he  should  lose  him  in  the  throng. 

His  young  guide  turned  into  a  narrow 
alley,  through  which  they  soon  reached  an 
open  square.  Now,  suddenly  the  Kremlin, 
with  its  black  gigantic  towers  and  walls,  rose 
before  them  in  the  twilight ;  and  in  the  last 
rays  of  the  evening  sun  glowed  the  golden 
cross  of  St.  Ivan  on  the  top  of  the  metropo. 


166 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;   OR, 


litan  church,  high  in  the  blue  ether  of 
heaven.  Involuntarily  Jaromir  stopped  for  a 
moment  and  looked  up ;  but  his  guide,  some 
steps  in  advance,  now  looked  back  as  if  to 
engage  him  to  proceed,  then  waved  with  his 
hand,  exprebsive  that  he  should  not  lose  time. 
They  came  to  the  portal  of  a  magnificent  pa- 
lace ;  the  boy  entered  the  gate  and  stopped 
for  Jaroiiiir  lo  conji;  up.  He  then  took  his 
hand  smd  said, 

"  Now  I  must  cor;ductyou  more  cautious- 
ly, otherwise  you  would  not  find  the  way." 

And  indeed  the  size  of  the  hall  rendered 
the  light  of  one  lamp  insufficient.  The  broad 
stairs  which  led  to  the  upper  story  could 
liardly  be  seen.  Jaromir  stopped.  Should 
he  enter  in  this  desolate  city  a  strange  house  ? 
He  was  not  afraid,  yet  he  hesitated  to  confide 
himself  to  the  guide. 

"  Stop,  boy  !"  he  said,  "  no  further  shall  I 
go  before  you  tell  me  whither." 

"  A  Pole,  a  soldier,  and  to  fear  !"  said  he, 
in  an  almost  scornful  torje. 

This  answer  displeased  the  valiant  youth. 
"  Fear !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  I  almost  believe 
that  you  think  you  frighten  me.  On,  in  the 
devil's  name  ! — but  you  are  my  warrant  for 
all  that  may  happen." 

The  boy  did  not  answer,  but  offered  his 
hand  to  Jaromir,  who  took  so  firm  a  hold  of 
it  that  his  little  guide  could  not  escape.  He 
then  with  his  right  hand  drew  his  sabre  and 
said, 

"  Now,  forward,  v/hither  you  will !" 
The  silent  boy  conducted  him  up  the  steps, 
opened  a  door,  and  led  him  through  a  number 
of  rooms,  which  to  all  appearance  stood 
empty.  Jaromir's  heart  beat.  A  strange 
feeling  arose  within  him,  as  if  approaching 
some  danger  ;  and  yet  he  was  driven  by  ex- 
pectation to  gain  the  solution  of  the  mystery. 
They  had  now  reached  a  room  which  was 
completely  dark.  The  boy  locked  the  door 
behind  him,  and  with  a  quick,  unexpected 
turn  escaped  from  Jaromir's  grasp,  and  in  a 
pleasant  voice  cried  out  to  him  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  room : 

"  Wait  hfere  for  a  moment." 
Jaromir  tried  to  catch  the  boy,  but  he  had 
vanished,  and  a  second  door  being  closed,  in- 
timated that  he  must  have  left  the  room. 

Alone  in  the  dark  room,  Jaromir  became 
uncertain  what  course  he  should  take.  He 
tried  to  open  the  door  through  which  he  had 
entered,  but  in  vain;  it  resisted  his  efforts. 

"  What  if  this  be  some  retreat  where  thou 
art  threatened  by  the  enemy  ?"  he  sard  to  him- 
self. "  But  wliat  could  be  the  reason  for  se- 
lecting thee  from  so  many  thousands  ?  How 
accidently  wert  thou  met !  There  are  heads 
of  more  importance  in  the  army  than  thine. 
But  what  iu  the  world  can  they  want? 
What  is  this  mystery  ?" 


Disturbed  by  these  thoughts,  I.e  stepped  to 
the  window,  which,  being  closed  by  heavy 
silk  curtains,  was  observed  only  by  a  narrow 
streak  of  light.    He  drew  the  curtains  aside ; 
the  room  was  on  the  garden-side  ;  on*  the 
other  shone  the  two  towers  in  the  reflection 
of  the  watch-fires,  which  stood  near  Jaromir's 
quarters,  and  were  to  serve  him  as  guides. 
If  he  was  not  deceived  the  nearest  way  to  his 
soldiers  lay  through  the  garden.     He  also 
recollected  having  s^cn  a  long  garden-wall, 
which  ran  along  the  street  in  which  his  bi- 
vouac lay.     With  military  circumspection,  he 
immediately  collected  all  these  circumstances 
in   his   mind,,  and  no  longer  ddubted   that 
should  the  worst  come,  he  could  get  into  the 
garden,  there  reach  the  wall,  and  from  thence 
be   able   to   call    for  the   assistance   of  his 
friends.      In  his  thoughts   he  had  already 
planned  a  retreat,  in  case  he  were  attacked. 
To  attain  the  garden  was  the  only  difficulty 
— the  jump  from  the  window  being  too  haz- 
ardous.    But  chance  favored  him  ;  close  at 
his  side  he  suddenly  heard  a  floor  turn  on  \ta 
hinges.     Following  the  sound,  he  discovered 
a  tapestried  door,  which,  being  badly  closed, 
moved  by  the  wind  ;  he  opened  it  and  stood 
in  a  corridor,  the  window  of  which  opened 
into  the  garden,  and  as  it  was  not  closed  by 
any  curtain,  he  had  sufficient  light  to  over- 
look the  place.     After  the  first  few  steps  he 
found  a  smalT  stair-case,  which,  to  his  great 
satisfaction,  conducted  direct  to  the  garden, 
the  entrance  to  which  was  not  even  locked. 
He  was  now  in  the  full  possession  of  his 
liberty ;  but  a  feeling  of  shame  and  honor 
drove  him  back.     Satisfied  with  having  se- 
cured his  retreat,  he  was  resolved  to  confront 
the  adventure.    He  had  just  reached  the  dark 
room  again,  when  the  door  through  which 
his  guide  had  disappeared  opened,  and  a  fee- 
ble stream  of  light  shone  into  the  room.     A 
female  figure,  wrapped  in  white  veils  and 
dresses,  entered  with  an  easy,  graceful  step. 
She  held  in  her  hand  a  lamp  of  an  antique 
form,  the  light  of  which  was  dimmed  by  a 
thick  glass.     Jaromir,  who  had  prepared  him- 
self for  an  enemy,  or  at  least  for  a  diplomatic 
or  dangerous  military  order,  was  greatly  as- 
tonished.    With  some  confusion  he  bowetJ. 
but    the    stranger    placed    the    lamp    upon 
the   marble-table,    stepped   up  to  him,  and 
without  raising  her  veil,  asked  in  a  lovely 
voice,  and  which  appeared  to  be  well  known 
to  him : 

"  Can  you  guess  who  stands  before  you  ?" 
"  By   heavens,  no !"  exclaimed  Jaromir, 
"  but  I  must  know  you  !* 

"  You  have  no  faithful  recollection,"  re- 
plied the  unknown  ;  "  and  yet  I  recognised 
you  in  the  midst  of  the  whole  crowd,  and  my 
heart  then  ceased  to  be  oppressed  on  your 
account.     I  hoped  to  find  a  friend—  a  protec- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


167 


tor.    Bat  yet,  I  must  beg  you  to  be  it  to  me !" 
With  these  words  she  raised  her  veil  and 

looked  bashfully   towards  the  floor.      The 

twilight  which  was  in  the  room  still  hid  the 

features,  which  were  not  turned  to  the  light. 

Jaromir,  excited  to  the  utmost,  took  her  band 

and  quickly  drew  her  towards  the  light ;  she 

made  only  a  feeble  resistance,  and  bashfully 

her  head  dropped  down. 

"  Alisette  !  you  ?"  he  exclaimed  in  great 

astonishment,  having  now   recognised   her. 

"  How  is  it   possible  that   you   should   be 

here  ?" 

With  a  timid  expr^sion,  she  cast  her  blue 

eye,  in  which  a  tear  was  lingering,  up  to  him, 

and  said  in  a  trembling  voice  : 

"  It  is  indeed  almost  incomprehensible  to 
myself,  yet  there  exist  times  and  circum- 
stances which  may  bring  even  women  into 
the  strangest  and  most  extraordinary  posi- 
tions. Alas !  I  feel  deeply,"  she  continued, 
casting  down  her  eyes,  "  how  strong  appear- 
ances are  against  me — you  condemn  mc  be- 
cause you  see  me  here  !  But  if  you  knew — " 

"  I  swear  to  you !"  exclaimed  Jaromir, 
"  that  my  heart  will  never  be  able  to  nourish 
an  unworthy  suspicion !" 

"  O,  you  kind  friend  !"  said  Alisette  with 
emotion,  taking  his  hand  and  pressing  it  with 
warmth.  ShQ,then  sank  down  on  the  sofa 
in  exhaustion,  and  pressed  her  head  into  the 
silk  cushion.  She  seemed  silently  to  weep. 
Jaromir  stood  before  her,  and  with  beating 
heart  gazed  upon  the  beautiful  girl.  Her 
head  rested  upon  her  soft,  thinly -covered 
arm ;  her  curls  fell  gracefully  over  her  cheeks 
and  neck,  her  right  arm  hung  down.  Silently 
he  sat  at  her  side,  and  taking  her  hand,  said 
with  sincere  emotion : 

"Compose  yourself,  poor  girl !" 

She  slowly  raised  herself.  "  Alas !"  she 
sighed,  "  my  strength  forsakes  me  when  the 
picture  of  my  life  presents  itself  in  lively 
colors  before  my  soul.  Only  pardon  me  ! — 
You  must  now  hear  what  fate  brought  me 
hither.  But  first  answer  me  one  question. 
Did  you  not  recognise  me  before  ?" 

"  You  !    When  ?"  asked  Jaromir. 

"  Then  you  really  did  not  recognise  me  in 
my  male  attire  ?" 

"  Impossible !  And  you  were  the  gay, 
charming  messenger  yourself?  Now  I  under- 
stand. 

"  The  gay  messenger !"  interrupted  Ali- 
sette with  a  bitter  expression.  Oh,  if  you 
but  knew  what  it  has  cost  me  to  play  this 
part !  But  I  stood  on  the  stage,  where  I  had 
often  already  stood  with  a  crushed  and  bleed- 
ing heart,  showing  a  merry  face.  But  will 
you  listen  to  me  ?  Will  my  story  not  annoy 
you  ?  Will  you  not  refuse^  me  advice  and 
assistance  ?"  ~- 


"  A  wretch  I  should  be,  did  I  not  do  all  for 
you  that  lay  in  my  power!"  exclaimed  Ja- 
romir, and  he  pressed  her  tender  hand,  which 
was  still  resting  in  his,  to  his  lips. 

"  Now  tell  me,  tell  me  all !"  said  Jaromir  ; 
"  dry  these  bitter  tears,  for  you  have  found  a 
friend — a  brother  I" 

"  And  I  will  trust  him  like  a  brother,"  re- 
plied the  maiden,  slightly  pressing  his  hand. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  she  began, 
"  that  I  hate  my  callinnr.  Why — shall  a  wo- 
man— a  girl,  first  explain  it  to  you  ?  But  the 
most  pressing  need,  care  for  the  only  child 
that  a  dear  sister  left,  whom  I  lost  in  Eng- 
land, forced  me  to  this  miserable  life.  My 
talent,  which  I  thought  to  possess  only  to 
beautify  the  life  of  others  and  my  own,  had 
to  bend  under  the  oppressing  slavisliduty  of 
caring  for  bodily  existence.  Let  me  throw  a 
veil  over  the  sad  fate  which  first  led  me  upon 
this  rough  road.  In  Warsaw  you  found  me 
— the  hours  which  I  passed  in  the  house  of 
the  Countess — the  few  days  when  I  saw  you 
there,  were  the  happiest  of  my  life.  Oh, 
how  willingly  would  I  have  stayed  there,  but 
the  revolting  proposals  of  a  man,  in  whose 
hands  all  tny  affairs  were  then  placed,  forced 
me  to  leave  a  city  where  I  had  been  so'happy, 
but  from  whence  a  rude  storm  had  suddenly 
chased  all  those  who  gave  me  their  friend- 
ship in  return  for  my  confidence ;  they  are 
dispersed  to  all  parts  of  the  world.  I  after- 
wards followed  you — only  a  few  days  after 
the  Countess  had  departed.  Without  advice 
— without  assistance — nothing  was  left  me 
but  to  seize  the  first  chance  which  the  sliip- 
wreck  had  left  to  me.  The  manager  of  a 
theatre,  who  had  placed  the  firmest  confi- 
dence in  the  power  and  victories  of  the  Em- 
peror, occupied  himself  in  the  engagement  of 
actors  for  a  French  stage,  intending  to  enter- 
tain the  army  during  tkeir  winter  sojourn  in 
Russia.  At  first  it  was  rumored  that  the 
Emperor  would  remain  at  Witepsk  ;  thither  I 
followed  the  guide  of  my  uncertain  fjte.  I 
risked  my  life  in  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of 
war ;  without  fear,  I  dare  say,  for  I  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  storms  of  life. 
But  we  had  hardly  arrived  at  Witepsk  when 
the  army  left  that  place,  and  the  town  became 
as  desolate  as  before.  Not  to  lose  the  great 
expense  which  had  been  incurred,  the  mana- 
ger resolved  to  follow  the  army.  He  was 
firmly  convinced  that  the  Emperor  would 
soon  be  in  Moscow.  He  thereforp  endeav- 
ored to  persuade  us  not  to  separate  from  him. 
Still,  I  should  certainly  have  returned  either 
to  Poland  or  Germany,  but — "  here  she  stop- 
ped for  a  moment.  "  But  why  should  I  be 
ashamed  to  own  it!"  she  continued  blushing 
slightly,  "  I  had  no  money  to<lo  so  I" 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  not  come  to  me — to 
Count  Rasinski !"  interrupted  Jaromir.  "  Our 


1$8 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


position  was  very  near  the  citv,  and  I  visited 
it  daily." 

"  O,  had  I  seen  yon,"  replied  Alisette,  "  I 
should  perhaps  have  had  the  courage  which 
such  a  prayer  claims.  But  to  any  one  else 
shame  would  have  held  me  bock.  The  Count 
I  saw  once  ;  proudly  and  earnestly  he  passed 
on  hid  noble  charger;  I  stood  at  the  window, 
but  he  observed  nie  not." 

"  The  impossibility  of  returning,"  continued 
Alisette,  after  a  pause,  "  drove  me  on  in  the 
roaring  stream.  The  manager  only  provided 
for  the  most  necessary  wants ;  in  all  other 
respects,  he  gave  promises  of  Moscow — ^per- 
haps merely  to  cut  off  every  other  resource 
from  us.  The  proximity  of  the  army,  the 
resting-places  at  night,  which  were  often  of 
the  strangest  kind,  the  necessity  of  being 
constantly  amongst  men,  induced  me  to  adopt 
male  attire.  I  considered  it  a  piece  of  good 
fortune  that  I  succeeded  in  getting  a  place  on 
the  baggage-wagon  of  a  general — for  I  then 
passed  lor  one  of  his  sen-ants — consequently, 
the  journey  became  less  inconvenient.  A  few 
days  after  the  battle,  we  passed  thi-ough  still 
smoking  Srnolensko.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
T  gained  sight  of  tlie  horrors  of  war.  Almost 
benumbed  with  terror,  I  tremblingly  passed 
through  the  streets,  strewed  on  either  side 
witli  half-bin-ned  corjwes  and  human  limbs. — 
I  had  finally  to  close  my  eyes  from  these  ter- 
rible objects.  But  these  scenes  were  renewed 
daily.  I  have  seen  perha})s,  things  more 
frightful  than  you  have,  for  when  you  pro- 
ceed on  the  road  of  victoiy,  you  do  not  cast 
your  eye  back  upon  the  tracks  the  monster  of 
war  leaves  behind  him.  I  have  seen  them, 
these  unliappy  creatures,  alongside  the  road, 
tliese  pale  spectres  with  sunken  eyes,  who 
wailed  forth  their  gloomy  complaints !  I  have 
seen  them,  and  had  to  pass  without  being 
able  to  render  them  assistance.  And  tlirough 
this  desert,  filled  with  misery  and  horror,  I 
was  driven  by  my  flite !  Every  step  of  the 
tired  iiorses  made  return  more  iniposgJfcle. — 
Tlie  stream  advanced  slowly ;  I  saw  mat  it 
carried  me  towards  an  abyss.  But  was  I  able 
to  return  alone  on  a  roiid  where  every  one  of 
my  footsteps  would  have  touched  a  human 
being  in  the  agonies  of  death  ?  How  could  I, 
a  weak  girl,  have  found  tiie  way  back,  where 
thousands  of  men,  accustomed  to  the  hard- 
ships of  war,  have  perished,  through  their 
strength  having  forsaken  them  ?  Almost  des- 
pairing at  the  continued  horror  which  filled 
my  soul,  I  finally  floated  calmly  on  the  wave 
of  fate,  supporting  the  gloomy  despondency 
into  which  I  had  sunk.  I  thought  no  more  of 
resistance.  Thus  I  heard  the  thunder  of  the 
terrible  battle ;  thus  with  my  face  covered, 
I  rode  over  the  field  of  death,  from  which  al- 
ready a  poisonous  smell  arose  ;  thus  finally, 
dear  friend,  I  to-day  reached  this  city.    As 


every  one  here  indifferently  oocnpied  the 
enipty  dwellings,  I  also  came  to  this  palace, 
the  front  wing  of  which  is  occupied  by  two 
ladies,  whose  fete  is  the  same  as  my  own, 
but  who  bear  it  with  more  tranquillity— I  ought 
to  say  with  light-minded  carelessness.  Thus, 
then,  J  was  the  most  abandoned  being  in  this 
immense  city,  in  this  great  empire,  from  the 
first  moment  I  entered  it.  An  hour  ago 
I  dared  to  leave  my  seclusion;  a .  good  stai 
directed  you  toward  me  ;  the  rest  I  need  not 
tell  you,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone,  as  she 
confusedly  bent  her  lovely  head. 

This  wonderful  adventure,  the  solitary  se- 
cret place,  the  loveliness  which  appeared  even 
in  the  slightest  motion,  and  in  the  tones  of  Fran- 
(joise  Alisette's  voice,  the  captivating  relation 
and  lively  description,  the  thouglit  of  her  fe- 
male helplessness  in  the  colossal  movements  of 
war,  where  ever  the  single  man  is  lost  in  the 
immeasurable  field  of  action — ^but  above  all, 
the  iiTCsistible  charm  of  tears  from  a  beau- 
tiful eye, — all  this  pressed  so  powerfully  upon 
Jaromir's  youthful  heart,  that  it  became  en- 
circled in  the  purple  net  which  the  lovely 
girl  had  thrown  over  him,  even  before  he  sus- 
pected it.  From  the  confidence  which  she  gave 
him,  he  grew  daring  in  what  otherwise  would 
have  been  inconsistent  witli  his  nature.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  she  had  put  her  whole 
fate  into  his  h.ands — as  if  he  were  now  the 
master  of  all  her  actions  and  will. .  'With  a 
sudden  impulse,  he  pressed  his  lips  upon  her 
hand,  and  drew  the  i-esisting  girl  nearer,  his 
glowing  cheek  touching  that  of  Alisette's.  Ho 
trembled  in  the  sweet  pleasure  of  love.  She 
too  trembled  in  the  arm  he  had  cast  around 
her  slender  figure. 

"  Sweet,  charming  being,"  said  he  tenderly, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  be  my  sister — ^I  will  be  your 
brother.  Wipe  away  your  tears,  and  think 
no  more  of  your  fate ;  all  is  now  over !" 

"  Oh,  what  unhoped-for  happiness !"  ex- 
claimed Alisette.  She  hid  her  charming  face 
in  Jaromir's  breast — ^like  a  bashful,  flying 
dove  she  clung  to  him,  and  he  held  her  in  his 
embrace,  in  the  proud  conviction  of  his  manly 
protection. 

"  You  have  seen  my  bride  later  tlian  I,'* 
said  he,  after  some  minutes,  "  O,  speak  of  her 
to  me !  Was  she  as  sad  as  her  letters  tell  V 

At  the  word  bride,  Alisette  shrunk  convul- 
sively back ;  a  quick  oppressed  "  Ah  !"  burst 
from  her  lips.  "  Tlie  beautiful  Countess  Lo- 
doiska  I  have  only  seldom  seen,"  said  she, 
with  painful  emphasis.  "  The  day  following 
the  march,  she  was  at  the  ball  in  the  Saxonian 
palace,  where  I  had  to  appear  and  sing  in  the 
concert." 

"  At  the  ball !"  murmured  Jaromir,  with  an 
expression  which  plainly  showed  that  this  in- 
formation was  equally  unexpected  and  diaa- 
greoable  to  Mm. 


"rf 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


•Prince  lidmowski  conducted  her." 
"  Did  she  dance  with  him  ?"  asked  Jaronur, 
quickly. 

"  With  him  alone  but  little.  They  sat  mostly 
in  a  niche  of  the  window,  talking.  They  also 
drove  home  soon,  as  the  Pruice  intended  to 
take  supper  with  the  Countess." 

Jaromir  was  silent.  A  flush  of  anger  man- 
tled his  cheeks,  but  he  mastered  his  tem- 
per and  the  jealousy  which  rose  within  him. 
No ! — he  thought — she  surely  loves  you,  and 
her  sadness  is  as  true  as  her  letters  describe. 
Why  should  she  not  accept  the  company 
of  one  of  the  most  familiar  friends  of  the 
house  ?  Should  she  stay  away  from  a  pub- 
lic festival,  which  had,  perhaps,  even  a  pa- 
triotic character  ?  You  are  unjust  Jaromu-, 
both  to  her  and  yourself! 

In  his  open  features,  Fran9oi3e  read  what 
was  passing  in  his  breast.  ' 

'•  You  are  distracted,  dear  friend,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  compassion ;  "  the  recollection  of 
your  beautiful  bride  must  certainly  be  touch- 
ing.    Does  she  often  write  to  you  ?" 

"  Since  the  day  preceding  the  battle  I  have 
had  no  letters.  Her  last  was  dated  Toplitz ; 
but  she  writes  often,  and  with  the  most  ten- 
der friendship." 

The  last  words  he  spoke  with  emotion ; 
it  was  like  a  prayer  to  excuse  his  suspicions. 
But  suddenly  the  thought  struck  him  :  "  Why 
did  she  not  write  that  she  had  been  at  the 
ball  V  All  else  that  happened  to  her  she  has 
most  accurately  described,  informed  me  of  her 
occupation  day  after  day — why " 

Alisette  interrupted  him  in  these  thoughts. 

"  How  much  I  wished  to  have  taken  leave 
of  the  Countess  and  your  bride !  But  it  was 
impossible.  Thrice  I  was  announced,  but 
found  no  one  at  home.  The  porter  informed 
me  that  they  had  gone  to  the  country,  from 
whence  they  would  only  return  at  a  late  hour ; 
and  the  next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the 
rolling  of  their  travelling-carriage." 

"To  the  country?"  said  Jaromir  in  as- 
tonishment, for  he  had  not  been  informed  of 
that  either.  "  Whither  ?  Do  you  know  the 
place  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Alisette,  evidently  confused 
and  pausing ;  "  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  recol- 
lect Polish  names." 

"  Perhaps  Wikgolsky,  the  domain  of  lier 
uncle  ?  Or  Pulawy,  where  the  Princess 
Czartowski  resides  ?" 

By  a  motion  of  her  hand  Alisette  replied 
ia  the  negative. 

"  But  whom  to  visit  ?  You  certainly  know 
the  name  of  the  proprietor  ?" 

"  The  porter  did  not  know,"  replied  Ali- 
sette. 

"  That  is  impossible,  dearest !  If  he  knew 
tlie  place  he  must  also  have  known  the  pro- 
l»ietor.    I  conjure  you,  girl,  to  speak  the 


m 

AM- 


truth,"  ho  added,  with  renewed  warmth, 
sette  shrunk  tremblingly  back. 

"Good  God:" 

"  The  truth  !    Was  it  Czarnowriki  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  was." 

"  There  lives  Lichnowski !"  exclaimed  Ja- 
romir, furiously  jumping  up.  "  She  /is  as 
faithless  and  false  as  was  ever  woman.  She 
has  hidden  this  visit  from  me,  which  she 
would  not  have  done  had  it  been  an  innocent 
one.  She  sent  me  a  journal — she  rendered 
an  account  of  every  hour,  of  every  minute. 
A  saint  could  not  have  led  a  more  pure,  quiet, 
and  virgin  life.    Oh,  the  hypocrite  !" 

Tears  rolled  down  the  cheeks  of  the  youth  ; 
impatiently  he  wiped  them  off,  and  stamped 
with  his  foot  upon  the  ground. 

"  It  seems  worth  while  for  a  man  to  weep 
for  her,  like  a  boy  !" 

But  his  tears  only  fell  the  more  abundantly. 

Without  daring  to  speak  a  word,  and 
trembling  in  every  limb,  AUsette  remained 
seated.  She  looked  like  a  child  who  has 
caused  a  great  misfortune,  without  knowing 
it,  and  who,  grown  pale  from  fright,  without 
daring  to  interfere,  tremblingly  looks  at  the 
growing  consequences. 

"  Be  calm !"  she  implored,  in  a  mild  voice  ; 
"  sit  down  by  me  again.  PeAaps  you  do 
great  injustice  to  the  poor  girl." 

"  No !"  exclaimed  he  violently,  "  I  do  not 
do  her  injustice.  Unknowingly  you,  kind 
girl,  have  betrayed  to  me  more  than  you  sus- 
pect. Now  tell  me  the  whole  truth.  What 
more  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Indeed  nothing,"  she  replied. 

"  Alisette  !"  said  Jaromir  passionately,  tak- 
ing both  her  hands,  and  resuming  his  seat, 
"  Alisette,  you  have  implored  my  protection 
and  assistance ;  now  I  Want  your  confidence 
in  return.  Tell  me  all — all  you  know  or  think !" 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing ;  and  what  I 
think,  alas  ! — I  dare  not  think  !" 

"Tell  me  only. one  thing,"  said  he,  with 
bareJ*  suppressed  anger ;  "  did  Prince  Lich- 
nowifi  follow  the  Countess  to  Toplitz  ?" 

"  He  left  on  the  same  day,"  answered  Ali- 
sette, tremblingly. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  kind  ;  you  would  not  have 
betrayed  me  thus  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  soft 
voice,  with  his  left  arm  pressing  the  hardly 
resisting  girl  to  his  breast.  "  But  1  will  for- 
get her  !  She  shall  not  have  the  triumph  of 
seeing  a  man  weep  for  her  !  In  the  battle  I 
thought  only  of  her  ;  her  sorrowing  image 
alone  stood  before  my  soul.  I  saw  neither 
horror  nor  danger.  Death  seemed  sweet  to 
me.  Oh !  how  foolish  to  me  was  this  aspi- 
ration !" 

In  proportion  as  Jaromir's  conviction  of  the 
infidehty  of  his  betrothed  increased,  did  an 
excited  passion  for.  Alisette  £ll  his  breast. 
He  pressed  burning  kisses  upon  the  lips  of 


170 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


the  too  loving  girl,  and  her  resistance  died 
away  before  them. 

The  dark  figure  of  bis  evil  demon  stepped 
before  him,  raised  a  threatening  hand,  and 
held  it  over  hia  head.  One  step  more  and  the 
cold  touch  falls  upon  thy  head  ! — the  poison- 
ous breath  enters  thy  breast!  Is  no  kind 
genius  near  ?  Does  not  the  pure  figure  of 
thy  bride  step  between  thee  and  her  ? 

"Will  you  be  mine? — eternally  mine?" 
exclaimed  Jaromir  with  the  most  passionate 
tenderness.  "  Can  you  pardon  him  who  mis- 
understood you — who  blindly  shut  his  eyes  to 
the  gem  in  your  heart  ?  Allsette,  I  must  atone 
for  this  great  injustice.     Pardon  the  blind  !" 

"  Oh  !  incomprehensible  mercy  of  heaven !" 
exclaimed  Allsette,  submitting  to  his  em- 
brace. Her  bosom  heaved,  her  lips  pressed 
her  lover's,  her  breath  died  away  in  his  kiss. 
Jaromir  trembled  with  rapture.  Till  now  he 
had  only  known  the  pure  flame  of  love,  and 
feeling  from  afar  its  mild,  ennobling  warmth, 
adored  it.  Daringly  he  now  stepped  too  near 
the  sanctuary.  Like  glowing  metal  the  fire 
raged  through  his  veins — blind  ecstasy  suc- 
ceeded— and  all  was  hushed. 

With  a  shudder  Alisette  awoke  and  wished 
to  tear  herself  from  the  arms  of  her  lover, 
but  he  would  not  loose  her. 

"  You  are  mine  for  ever  !"  he  exclaimed, 
conjuringly  raising  his  right  hand  towards 
heaven  ;  "  that  I  have  sworn  !  And  I  will 
keep  my  oath.  Take  then,  faithful,  loving 
one,  the  ring  of  the  traitress  !  This  ring  shall 
be  the  pledge  of  our  union.  It  has  been  sa- 
credly consummated,  and  is  inviolable  !" 

He  drew  Lodoiska's  ring  from  his  finger 
and  placed  it  on  that  of  Alisette.  Speech- 
lessly she  hung  on  his  breast. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  a  sinner  ;  but  you,  you  are  the 
guilty  cause  of  it.  For  your  sake  I  have  re- 
ceived this  sin  upon  my  soul.  You  will  not 
abandon  me !" 

Weeping,  she  hid  her  Mead  in  her  dress. 

The  high-rising  flame  had  sunk.  JJHimir 
now  saw  how  much  had  been  destroyed  by 
its  violence.  A  cold  feeling  of  sadness  now 
crept  into  his  soul. 

"  Love  you  ?"  he  exclaimed  with  heartfelt 
melancholy.  "  Without  you,  earth  has  no 
charms  left  for  me  !  you  are  the  only  star 
which  shines  upon  me.  Should  you — no, 
no ! — ^you  will  always  shine  for  me,  dearest ! 
Your  lender  heart  has  healed  the  wound 
which  a  poisonous  traitress  tore  in  my  heart ! 
Ah  !  you  were  my  good  angel  in  that  terrible 
moment !" 

The  gloomy  knell  of  the  tower-bell,  which 
announced  the  ninth  hour,  aroused  the  two 
lovers. 

'*  You  must  go,"  said  Alisette,  springing 
op ;  "  were  you  to  be  found  here,  I  should 
be  lost !" 


"  Lost !    Who  dares  to  interrupt  us  ?" 

"  For  God's  sake,  hush ! — I  hear  a  noiae ! 
it  is  the  corridor  door.  We  are  in  the  dark— 
if  any  one  should  come !  Dearest,  if  my 
life,  my  honor  be  dear  to  you,  leave  me  now ! 
You  know  not  what  a  female  heart  feels. 
Shame  would  crush  me,  if  the  women— oh ! 
I  implore  you,  I  beseech  you,  fly  !  There  is 
still  time !  Here,  through  this  door,  down 
into  the  garden !" 

She  herself  put  the  sabfe  which  he  had 
taken  off"  into  his  hand,  and  with  entreating 
words  pressed  him  to  go. 

"  Bashful  roe  !"  said  he,  smiling  ;  "  how 
charming  is  this  fear  !  Be  quiet — you  can 
still  raise  your  eye  before  those  who  are  spot- 
less !  Your  soul  is  still  pure ;  your  heart 
yet  a  virgin  sanctuary  !" 

"  Oh,  then  spare  my  heart !"  she  faltered, 
"If  you  love  me,  go !  Let  this  be  the  first 
proof  you  give  me  !" 

He  embraced  her  once  more,  kissed  her 
brow  with  melancholy  tenderness,  and  has- 
tened through  the  tapestried  door. 

"  Farewell !  To-morrow  !  to-morrow  !" 
Alisette  whispered  in  a  tender  voice,  and 
disappeared. 

Unseen  he  reached  the  garden.  He  wished 
now  to  make  trial  whether  it  really  adjoined 
the  street  in  which  his  bivouac  lay  ;  so  shaped 
his  course  through  the  dark  walks.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  reached  the  wall,  and 
after  a  short  search  found  the  porch,  which 
was  only  fastened  on  the  inside.  He  quickly 
drew  back  the  old  rusty  bolt,  and  really 
found  himself  on  the  place  he  supposed — 
about  a  hundred  steps  from  the  watch-fires 
of  his  men.  This  secret  path  was  to  him  a 
reward  from  heaven — a  new  sign  of  his  pro- 
tecting Deity. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

When  Bernard  became  calmer,  Rasinski 
and  Louis  insisted  that  he  should  relate  the 
whole  story.  In  his  rough,  good-humored 
manner  he  recounted  the  incidents  of  the  so- 
journ in  Warsaw,  and  the  adventure  of  the 
ring.  ^ 

Bernard  now  left  the  room.  ;^  '^'^ 

Louis  betook  himself  to  Mary's  letter  a 
second  time,  absorbed  in  thought  over  the 
new  turns  the  stream  of  his  life  had  taken. 
Rasinski,  filled  with  deep  thoughts,  walked 
up  and  down  the  apartment. 

It  now  struck  nine.  I    '* 

"  Bernard  is  right,"  said  Rasinski ;  "  ex- 
hausted nature  must  not  remain  overpowered. 
V^e  must  lie  down  and  repose.  Who  knows 
if  we  shall  not  be  interrupted  during  the 
night  ?  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  feet. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


m 


^nite  at  ease  in  this  abandoned  city.    The 
rrecian  fleet  left  Troy  only  to  return  during 
the  night." 

These  words  reminded  Louis  of  the  obser- 
vations Bernard  had  made,  forgotten  through 
the  unexpected  news  from  Germany.  He 
.  related  to  Rasinski  what  Bernard  had  seen. 
"  Hem  !  In  that  case  we  cannot  possibly 
have  anything  hostile  to  expect,"  he  replied 
"  Probably  they  are  frightened  servants,  or 
old  sick  persons  who,  being  unable  to  fly  now, 
hide  themselves  for  fear  of  us.  Rostopchin 
describes  us  in  all  his  proclamations  as  mur 
derers  and  abusers  of  the  temples  ;  we  cannot 
therefore  be  angry  at  the  poor  people  dread- 
ing us  and  hiding  from  us,  as  if  we  were 
monsters.  Let  us  leave  them  in  peace,  at 
least  for  this  night.  To-morrow  I  will  order 
the  whole  castle  to  be  searched.  The  watches 
at  the  gate,  my  servants,  who  sleep  in  the  an- 
te-chamber, and  ourselves  are  sufficient  secu- 
rity. Good  night,  Louis  !  I  think" to-morrow 
will  decide  something." 

In  passing  through  the  long  saloon  separa- 
ting his  sleeping  apartment  from  that  of  Ra- 
sinski, Louis  almost  felt  a  tremor  at  finding 
himself  alone,  where  the  least  sound,  the 
slightest  motion  resounded  from  the  high 
vaulted  walls.  The  door  between  his  and 
Bernard's  room  was  open.  He  looked  in. 
Bernard  was  not  there. 

Louis  went  and  looked  forth  from  the  cor- 
ridor window,  whence  he  saw  his  comrades 
lying  in  deep  sleep  around  the  fires.  One 
officer  only  was  awake,  walking  with  rapid 
and  impatient  steps  to  and  fro.  By  the  light 
of  the  fire  Louis  recognised  Jaromir. 

••  What  do  you  there  ?"  Louis  uttered  softly. 

"  Alas  !  Louis,'  is  it  you  ?"  replied  Jaro- 
mir, recognising  hil  friend.  "  You  come  just 
in  time.  Would  you  like  to.  read  a  letter 
from  Lodoiska  ?  Half-an-hour  ago  Boleslaus 
handed  one  to  me,  on  returning  from  a  walk 
through  the  city.     Have  you  had  letters  ?" 

"  Yes,  important  ones,  and  of  the  strangest 
,  kind."  • 

'     "  Mine  is  of  the  strangest  kind  too.  There, 

read  it"  '' 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  do  not 
understand  Polish  sufficiently.     Read  it  to 
•»*me  yourself." 

-  "  Read !  Ah !"  sighed  he,  heavily,  passing 
'*  his  hand  several  times  over  his  eyes. 
'.  «  You  are  ill,  friend  ?" 
V  "  Exhausted.  The  wild  soldier's  life  some- 
times distresses  me.  I  cannot,  indeed,  read 
the  letter  to  you.  The  fire  blinds  me  too 
much  ;  my  eyes  pain  me.  To-morrow,  per- 
haps." 

"  You  are  ip  a  very  sad  humor  to-night," 
returned  Louis,  mildly.  "Did  you  receive 
unpleasant  news?  Rasinski  did  not  tell  us 
about  it,  although  he  had  letters  from  his 
sister." 


"  Prom  his  sister  ?  What  can  she  write  to 
him  ?  Alas  !  Louis,  would  that  I  had  fallen  in 
the  redoubt  with  so  many  of  our  comrades !" 

"  Gracious  Grod  !"  exclaimed  Louis,  in 
alarm,  "  what  is  it  ?  What  does  Lodoiska 
write  ?  Tell  me,  at  least,'  though  you  cannot 
read!" 

"  No,  I  will  read,  should  my  eyes  burst  in 
the  eflfort !"  These  words  he  uttered  vio- 
lently, and  drawing  a  letter  from  bis  pocket, 
opened  it.  He  beckoned  Louis  to  come  down 
to  the  watch-fire,  and  then  read  as  follows : — 

"  Mt  only  beloved  Fkiend — We  return 
at  last  to  our  native  city.     A  few  minutes 
more  and  we  are  on  the  way  to  Warsaw. 
Then  again  I  shall  be  for  a  few  days  nearer 
to  you,  who  always  recede  farther  and  far- 
ther.    Oh  !  my  beloved,  when  will  this  terri- 
ble war  end  ?     When  will  you  return  from 
the  fat  desert  whither  the  storm  has  blown 
you  ?    With  what  boundless  love  will  these 
arms  receive  you  !     Alas !  Jaromir,  I  have 
often  sad,  fearful  hours,  when  I  think  that  a 
gloomy  fate  may  step  between  us  and  our  hap- 
piness.    The  most  ardent  prayer  to  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  then  my  only  consolation.  All  that 
the  kind  friends  who  s\jirround  me  do  to  solace 
me  does  not  touch  my  breast,  but  prayer  en- 
ters my  inmost  heart.     Be  likewise  pious,  my 
Jaromir.     Do  not  forget  that  sacred  voice  in 
the  breast  which  impels  us  humbly  to  the  feet 
of  the  Almighty — the  Merciful !     For,  who 
shall  protect  you  in  the  storm  of  battle  if 
His  face  is  turned  away  from  you  ?    Dear 
Jaromir,  lay  open  yonr  pure  soul  before  our 
Heavenly  Father.     Do  not  scorn  the  weak- 
ness of  the  girl  who  engages  you  to  pious  be- 
lief, because  she  finds  her  sole  consolation  in 
it.    I  know  well  that  man  considers  himself 
suffieiently  strong  without  divine  assistance  ; 
but,  dearest,  this  is  a  delusion.    Before  Him 
the  powerful  are  weak.  I  feel  myself  strong, 
inviicible  when,~S,fter  ardent  prayer,  the  hand 
of  ^  Almighty  rests  upon  me.     Then  my 
gloomy  dreams  and  forebodings  vanish — then 
I  see  the  angel  of  the  Lord  guiding  and  pro- 
tecting you  with  shield  and  sword — then  the 
sun  of  a  blissful  future  shines  upon  me ;  and 
although  gloomy  hours  return  afterwards,  as 
night  follows  the  day.  yet  the  brilliant  stars 
shine  through  the  darkness,  and  the  horizon 
remains  in  its  golden  morning  glory.    Soon, 
dearest,  I  shall  be  nearer  to  you,  in  our  na- 
tive city,  where  everything,  even  the  sound 
of  our  language,  reminds  me  of  you.    There 
I  shall  be  by  ftr  more  happy  than  here.  The 
carriage  is  just  entering  the  gate.     My  heart 
beats  with  joy  and  longing.     Farewell  ! — 
farewell !    May  a  thousand  angels  protect 
you,  and  happily  lead  you  home ! 

"  YouK  Lodoiska." 

"  A  noble,  excellent  girl !    Love,  piety,  in- 


19: 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


neeence,  trath !"  exclaimed  Louis,  as  Jaro- 
nur  concluded.  The  latter  embraced  bim 
and  convulsively  pressed  bis  glowing  face 
against  the  bosom  of  his  friend.  Louis  did 
not  suspect  what  kindled  this  terrible  fire  in 
his  breast.  He  thoirght  it  was  the  longing 
for  his  bride  and  for  home. 

"  Compose  yourself,  friend,"  he  said  mildly  ; 
"  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  see  her 
again,  and  perhaps  it  is  not  far  distant." 

Jaromir  stood  without  saying  a  word.  A 
tumult  worked  in  his  breast.  "  Miserable 
thou  art !"  said  his  conscience  ; — "  wretched 
if  this  be  not  the  language  of  truth  ;  doubly 
miserable  if  it  be  !" 

As  he  continued  silent,  Louis  to  give  a 
turn  to  the  scene,  asked  after  Bernard. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  answered  Jaromir, 
striking  his  head ;  "  I  have  seen  no  one — no- 
thing !  Louis !  I  must  leave  you !  I  must  be 
alone !  I  pray  you  leave  me  to  myself !" 

Louis  looked  after  the  young  man  with 
emotion,  as  he  watched  him  witli  quick  steps 
hurrying  down  the  street. 

Slowly  he  then  returned  to  his  room.  He 
repaired  to  the  window  once  more.  A  gloomy, 
murky  glow  was  seen  in  the  midst  of  the 
dark  figures  who  reposed  on  the  ground. — 
Their  deep,  heavy  breathing  was  heard  at  a 
distance ;  even  the  fire-watchers  were  nodding. 
Deathlike  silence  reigned  throughout  this 
whole  immense  city. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Finally,  sleep  overpowered  Louis  also ; 
he  closed  the  window,  wrapped  his  cloak 
closely  around  him,  and  threw  himself  upon 
a  sofa  standing  in  one  corner  of  the  room. — 
Anxiety  for  Bernard  and  Jaromir  kept  him 
awake  for  some  time.  But  gradually  he  "lost 
himself  in  the  regions  of  dreamland. 

He  dreamt  that  he  was  engaged  in  battle, 
fighting,  surrounded  by  enemies.  A  figure 
opened  in  heaven — it  was  his  mother,  who 
beckoned  him  to  follow  her.  She  led  him  into 
her  comfortable  parlor,  and  said : 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long  V 

He  felt  the  joy  of  return.  He  saw  her  on 
the  promenade  in  Pillnitz — the  gay  friends  of 
his  youth  accompanied  him.  Suddenly,  Mary 
and  Bianca  approached  him,  leaning  like  sis- 
ters on  each  other's  arms. 

"  Yes,  yes,  love  each  other,  dearest  objects 
I  possess  on  earth!"  he  murmured  in  his 
sleep,  while  a  smile  played  upon  liis  dormant 
lip.  He  wished  to  approach  and  give  them 
his  hand ;  but  a  stranger  held  him  back.  It 
was  Rasinski,  who  told  him  to  take  to  his 
horse  quickly.  The  lovely  figures  disappeared, 


he  found  himself  in  the  bustle  and  tumult  of 
the  march. 

Innumerable  lines  of  soldiers  passed  him ; 
he  joined  them,  but  new  figures   still  con- 
tinually rose  up  at  his  side  and  pressed  on-  - 
ward.    Halts  and  advances  were  made  at  the 
same  time — as  the  double  and  contradictory 
in  a  dream  often  does.   He  now  thought  that 
he  entered  Moscow  with  Bernard  and  Ra- 
sinski, and  rode  through  the  streets,  which, 
in  immeasurable  length,  were  spread  out  be- 
fore him.     The  houses  and  palaces  whirled 
before  his  eyes ;  ever  was  the  one  he  occu- 
pied before  him ;  but  new  streets,  before  he 
could  reach  it,  continually  rose  up  between. — 
With  every  step  the  distance  seemed  to  in- 
crease.    Finally,  Rasinski,  Bernard,  and  him- 
self reached  the   gate;   they  alighted   and 
ascended  the  stairs.     In  exhaustion,  he  laid 
himself  down  in  the  same  room,  and  upon  the 
same  couch  on  which  he  really  reposed. — 
Dreams  and  reality  began  to  mix  confusedly 
together.  He  heard  the  call  of  the  sentry  from 
the  street,  and  awoke.     But  as  his  disturbed 
vision  saw  only  the  same  objects—as  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  watch-fires  still  illuminated  the 
room — as  his  waking  ear  still  heard  the  same 
sounds  as  when  sleeping— he  soon  fell  back  into 
the  embraces  of  Morpheus.     Thus,  between 
dreaming  and  waking,  he  saw  the  door  of  his 
room  slowly  open  and  a  veiled  figure  in  mourn- 
ing enter,  that  carried  a  dim-burning  lamp  in  its 
hand.  Like  a  spectre,  it  totteringly  approached  ' 
the  bed,  and  with  its  right  hand  it  raised  the 
veil  which  covered  its  face.    The  light  of  the 
lamp  fell  full  upon  the  countenance— it  was  Bi- 
anca ! — ^but  with  pale  and  sorrowful  features. 
"Where  is  Mary?"  asked  Louis?   "and 
why  dost  thou  appear  in  those  weeds,  dear- 
est ?     Alas !   dost  thou  ^Iso   weep  for  my 
mother  ?" 

With  a  painful  eagerness  he  stretched  out 
his  hand  towards  the  figure.  Mute  and  trem- 
bling, it  stood  before  him.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  desired  to  bend  over  him ;  but  suddenly 
shrank  back,  held  her  hand  remonstratingly 
before  her,  and*slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  Would  you  fly  ?  Why  do  you  scorn  me, 
charming  vision  ?"  said  Louis,  in  the  dawning 
confusion  'of  the  dream.  "  Do  not  appear,  if 
you  would  leave  me  so  quickly !" 

He  shuddered ;  the  night-frost  touched  and 
shook  him ;  he  wrapped  himself  up  close  in. 
his  cloak. 

The  vision  had  vanished  ;  but  through  the 
darkness  of  the  night  the  dreamer  heard 
the"words : 

"  Fly !  fly !  Danger  threatens  your  life  under 
this  roof!    Take  this  as  your  warning !" 

He  felt  a  touch  on  his  cheek  ;  he  awoke, 
— ^but  the  whole  picture  of  his  dream  lay 
before  him  a£.  if  in  a  cloud.  Bianca's  figure 
had  disappeared  like  a  shadow.  He  tried  to 
collect  his  broken  senses  when  a  shot  from 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


173 


the  adjoining  room  was  heard.  This  martial 
sound  immediately  roused  him  from  his  slum- 
bers ;  he  thoroughly  awakened  and  sprang  up. 
At  that  moment,  he  heard  Rasinski's  voice  in 
the  adjoining  room,  calling  to  him  and  Ber- 
nard. He  hurried  into  the  saloon,  which  was 
lit,  not  only  by  the  reflection  of  the  fires  from 
the  street,  but  also  by  a  night-lamp.  Ra^ 
sinski  advanced  with  hasty  steps  to  meet 
him,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  men 
who  had  been  awakened  by  the  report,  rushed 
in  from  the  ante-chamber. 

"Lights!  lights!"  called  Rasinski.  They 
liurried  to  obey  the  order. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  ?"  asked 
Louis. 
"  We  are  haunted !  have  you  seen  nothing  T 

"  Nothing  in  the  least,  but " 

"  A  black  figure,  to  all  appearance  a  woman, 
has  but  now  passed  through  my  room !" 

"  How  ?"  exclaimed  Louis,  in  a  startling 
accent,  "  a  dark  veiled  figure  ?" 

«  The  same." 

"  And  this  you  really  saw  ?  It  was  no 
vision  ?"  asked  Louis. 

•'  No,  by  heaven !  for  I  was  then  as  much 
awake  as  I  am  at  this  moment,"  replied  Ra- 
sinski. "  I  thought  that  I  heard  some  one 
lightly  pass  by  my  bed,  and  I  awoke  ;  for  you 
know  that  I  am  a  light  sleeper.  I  saw  a 
shadow  glide  along  the  wall,  while  a  dim  ray 
of  light  seemed  to  fall  into  the  room  through 
the  open  door  of  the  saloon. '  After  all,  I 
concluded  it  to  be  the  flitting  reflection  of 
the  fires  in  the  street.  I  had  wrapped  myself 
up,  and  once  more  closed  my  eyes,  when  I 
heard  the  same  low  rustling  as  before.  I 
jumped  up ;  the  same  black,  veiled  figure 
passed  close  by  my  bed.  Who  goes  there  ? 
I  exclaimed.  The  figure  visibly  shi'unk 
back,  but  did  not  answer ; — with  quick  steps 
it  hurried  through  the  room,  '  Answer,  or  I 
fire  !'  I  exclaimed,  and  seized  my  pistols." 

"  Almighty  God  !"  exclaimed  Louis,  in- 
voluntarily falling  upon  Rasinski's  arm,  as  if 
to  prevent  such  an  act. 

"  I  fired.  The  report  was  followed  by  an 
exclamation  from  a  female  voice." 

"  She  is  killed !"  cried  Louis,  rushing  to- 
wards Rasinski's  apartment. 

But  the  latter,  now  for  the  first  time  re- 
marking the  excitement  of  his  friend,  held 
him  back,  quickly  adding  : 
'  "  It  was  only  an  exclamation  of  fright. 
Immediately  afterwards  I  heard  a  door 
quickly  open  and  shut.  I  jumped  out  of  the 
bed,  and  hurried  towards  the  mysterious  ap- 
parition ;  but  whether  the  flash  and  smokq  of 
the  shot  had  blinded  tne,  or  the  darkness  of  the 
room  favored  the  escape  of  the  visitor,  it  at 
all  events  vanished,  as  though  sunk  in  the 
earth.  This  way  she  cannot  have  fled,  for 
she  had  not  time  to  reach  the  door." 


The  servant  Boon  returned  with  candles, 
whereupon  Rasinski  repaired  to  his  chamber, 
to  commence  a  close  search.  Louis  with 
tumultuous  feelings  accompanied  him.  The 
room  was  found  empty.  There  were  two 
doors  in  it — one  leading  into  the  saloon,  the 
other  conducting  to  the  other  apartments. 
But  this  latter  was  closed  by  two  arm-chairs 
which  stood  in  the  same  position  as  on  the 
preceding  evening  ;  and  no  one  could  have 
made  their  exit  that  way,  without  either  hav- 
ing overthrown  or  pushed  them  aside.  The 
servants  were  assured  that  no  one  had  en- 
tered the  chamber  from  the  saloon,  as  they 
had  slept  immediately  before  the  door,  ren- 
dering it  necessary  to  step  over  them,  either 
in  entering  or  retiring.  In  the  direction 
where  Rasinski  had  firwl  at  the  vision,  there 
was  no  door ;  it  was  that  comer  of  the  room 
which  was  not  on  the  side  of  the  saloon,  but 
on  that  of  the  other  apartments.  Rasinski 
attentively  examined  the  tapestry. 

"  There  is  my  shot !"  he  said,  pointing  to 
an  abrasion  in  the  wall,  where  the  ball  was 
still  sticking.  "  Consequently  I  did  not  de- 
ceive myself !    A  secret  door  must  be  here  !" 

In  curiosity  all  stood  around  him — Louis' 
heart  beating  with  indefinable  dread.  Sud- 
denly it  occurred  to  his  mind  that  all  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  have  dreamt  might  have 
been  "  a  dream  which  was  not  all  a  dream." 

"  Take  this  as  your  warning !"  were  the 
words  of  the  apparition. 

He  quickly  took  a  lamp  and  hurried  back 
to  his  room.  His  first  glance  fell  upon  the 
sofa — he  discovered  nothing — but  when  he 
cast  his  eyes  around,  he  discovered  some- 
thing white  lying  on  the  floor,  near  the  win- 
dow. He  took  it  up  ;  it  was  a  veil.  When 
the  web  touched  his  hand,  he  immediately 
felt  the  same  touch  which  had  before  so  won- 
derfully surprised  him.  He  spread  it  open  ; 
the  end  was  drawn  through  a  kind  of  ring  ; 
he  quickly  opened  it ;  gold  became  visible, 
and  a  green  stone  glittered  before  his  eye. 

"  Gracious  God  !  is  it  possible  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  warm  tears  streamed  down  his 
cheeks.  He  had  the  same  bracelet  in  his 
hand  which  the  long  lost  Bianca  had  dropped 
at  the  foot  of  the  St.  Bernard ;  the  same 
dear  treasure  to  which  he  was  indebted  for 
the  first  sight  of  her  adorable  countenance 
Wild  with  excitement,  he  was  about  hurrying 
to  Rasinski,  when  he  observed  a  slip  of  paper 
pinned  to  the  veil.  In  trembling  haste  he 
took  out  the  gold  pin  fastening  the  missive, 
unfolded  it,  and  in  extreme  agitation  read 
these  words : 

"  You  were  once  my  preserver.  You  pro- 
tected me  with  brotherly  love  and  fidelity. 
Who  can  unravel  the  wonderful  designs  of 
Providence,  which  then  united,  afterwards 


li.-.'Ai' 


174 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


separated,  now  re-unite,  and  soon  will  tear 
us  asunder  forever  ?  But  the  moments  are 
dear.  Leave  this  house  quickly — immedi- 
ately !  The  greatest  danger  threatens  you  ! 
The  abyss  of  destruction  yawns  under  your 
feet — the  soil  which,  you  tread  is  only  a  thin 
covering  of  it — one  moment  too  late,  and  it 
breaks  !  More  I  dare  not  reveal.  Alas  ! 
this  already  is  considered  a  great  crime !  but 
a  greater  Jaw  of  thankfulness  comrrianded 
me  to  commit  it.  Tlie  future  is  darkly  veiled 
— the  waves  of  my  life  are  roaring  in  the 
tempest.  Whatever  my  fate  may  be,  with 
sisterly  faithfulness  my  heart  shall  always 
retain  the  recollection  of  my  noble  friend  I 

"  BlANCA." 

Louis  stood,  hardly  able  to  command  his 
senses,  staring  fixedly  upon  the  paper,  when 
Rasinski  entered. 

"  Where  are  you  ?"  he  asked.  "  We  have 
discovered  a  door  ;  I  have  sent  for  an  axe  to 
open  it,  for  it  is  necessary  that  this  affair 
should  be  explained.     But  has  Bernard  not 

returned  yet  ? What  is  it  ?    what  is  the 

matter  with  you  ?"  he  asked  with  surprise, 
as  Lnuis  stood  motionless,  extending  him 
the  slip  of  paper. 

Rasinski  quickly  read  it. 
"  I  believe  that  higher  powers  are  en- 
gaged here  !"'  he  exclaimed,  after  the  pe- 
rusal ;  "  a  more  wonderful  event  never 
happened  to  mo.  But  danger !  what  danger 
threatens  us  ?"  Verbally  this  sentence  can- 
not possibly  be  understood  !  We  must  follow 
the  mysterious  apparition.  Come,  let  us  mu- 
tually seek  to  unravel  this  thread  !" 

Rasinski  drew  Louis  along.  In  his  room 
they  already  found  the  assistants  engaged  in 
prying  open  the  door  with  an  axe.  After  a 
short  eff)rt  it  gave  way. 

"Now  be  resolute,  but  cautious!"  said 
Rasinski.  Seizing  a  light  with  his  left  hand 
and  a  pistol  with  his  right,  he  proceeded. 

Tiiey  found  themselves  in  a  narrow,  low 
corridor.. sufficiently  wide  and  hi<^h  to  admit 
a  tall  person.  It  spomed  to  be  made  within 
the  wall  itself,  running  parallel  with  the 
broader  corridor  outside ;  but  it  sank  percepti- 
bly down,  in  some  places  precipitously  so. 

"  There's  a  smell  of  tire  and  brimstone 
here  !"  said  Rasinski,  after  advancing  about 
thirty  paces  ;  "  do  you  detect  it  ?" 

"  Nothing  surer  !"  replied  one  of  the  ser- 
vants. "  Something  gleams  too,  forward 
there !" 

Twenty  steps  further,  and  they  were  met 
by  a  thick,  sulphurous  smoke,  causing  the 
flame  of  the  lamp  to  turn  into  a  sickly  hue. 

"  Should  the  warning  be  as  dangerous  as 
that  paper  tells  us,"  said  Rasinski,  in  a  low 
tone,  turning  to  Louis,  "  I  think  it  is  unad- 
visable  to  go  farther !" 


Louis,  whose  heart  beat  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  trace  of  his  visitor,  replied : 

"  As  yet  we  may  well  dare  to  advance, 
for  the  retreat  is  not  cut  off.  Let  me  lead, 
colonel  !" 

"  No  ;  it  is  better  that  I  go  first,"  replied 
Rasinski ;  "  eagerness  might  entice  you  to 
act  unreasonably,  and  forget  the  necessary 
caution." 
They  penetrated  about  twenty  steps  further; 
the  sulphurous  mist  became  thicker  and 
thicker  ;  it  could  scarcely  be  breathed.  Sud- 
denly a  blast  of  wind  met  them  as  if  a  door 
had  opened  somewhere;  at  the  same  lime 
the  three  lights  which  they  carried  went  out. 
The  next  instant  was  heard  a  resounding 
blow  which  shook  the  whole  building. 

"That  was  a  mine!"  exclaimed  Rasinski, 
"  we  must  return !" 

Even  Louis  now  perceived  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  advance.  They  turned  to  find 
their  way  back,  but  in  a  few  moments  such  a 
dense  smoke  and  suffocating  heat  attacked 
them  that  they  could  with,  great  difficulty 
breathe. 

"  Quick !  quick  !"  exclaimed  Rasinski. 

Holdins  their  handkerchiefs  close  to  their 
mouths,  they  plunged  forward  to  reach  Ra- 
sinski's  room,  upon  gaining  which  they  found 
little  relief,  for  it  was  also  filled  with  dense  ' 
vapor.  Rasinski  hastened  to  the  window 
and  with  his  pistol  struck  the  frame.  The 
glass  fell  rattling  into  the  street,  and  thus  let 
in  the  pure  air.  Louis  ran  to  the  door  of  Ihe 
saloon,  but  here  too,  the  smoke  pervaded,  issu- 
ing apparently  from  the  floor.  However,  the 
lamp  was  still  burning,  enabling  him  to 
reach  his  own  room  and  seize  his  arms,  cloak 
and  saddle-bag.  The  veil,  bracelet  and  hand- 
kerchief of  Bianca  he  had  already  thrust  in 
his  breast.     He  hurried  back  to  Rasinski. 

From  the  street-"  Fire  !  Fire!"  now  re- 
sounded, followed  by  the  roll  of  the  drums  of 
the  bivouac,  to  which  the  yelling  trumpets 
joined  their  hasty  harsh  notes. 

Rasinski,  Louis  and  the  servants,  hurried 
down  the  large  staircase  into  the  street. 
At  the  porch  Bernard  joined  them  in  full 
haste  from  the  rear  of  the  mansion. 

"  God  be  praised  !  you  are  safe  !"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  feared  that  I  had  come  too 
late  !" 

The  whole  danger  could  now  well  be  seen. 
A  black  impenetrable  cloud  hung  over 
the  palace ;  red  spiral  flashes  shot  through 
it.  Dense  smoke  poured  from  almost  ever  ' 
window  ;  from  the  lower  story,  it  rolled  in 
thick  clouds,  ascending  in  a  high  column 
towards  the  roof.  A  single  glance  told  the 
truth  :  the  fire  was  the  work  of  incendia- 
rism. 

In  trembling  amazement  all  stood  awaiting 
the  end  of  the  scene.  r  ■  i 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


m 


Raeinski  ordered  his  men  under  arms,  and 
the  roll  of  the  drum  to  be  called.  All  were 
present. 

"  There  is  as  yet  no  wind,"  he  said ;  "  the 
flame  is  somewhat  smothered,  and  we  may 
yet  for  a  while  remain." 

He  called  Jaromir,  whom  he  commanded 
to  ride  immediately  to  the  Kremlin  and  in- 
form the  Adjutant-general  of  the  Emperor. 
'  The  young  officer  daslied  away  at  a  gallop. 

With  the  excitement  of  awe  the  troops 
looked  upon  the  building,  expecting  every 
moment  the  ffames  to  break  through.  Sud- 
denly a  brilliant  glare  fell  over  the  whole 
palace,  as  if  illuminated  by  the  quick-rising 
sun.  The  sky  shone  in  red  brightness,  as  a 
sea  of  fire  vaulted  over  them.  Rasinski 
rode  down  the  street  to  the  garden-wall, 
whence  he  could  obtain  a  better  view  all 
around. 

"  Gracious  God  !"  he  exclaimed  with  hor- 
ror, as  he  saw  another  large  building  near 
the  Kremlin,  from  whose  high  roof  the  flames 
were  just  breaking  forth.  "  That  is  no  acci- 
dent !     Incarnate  devils  are  at  work   here  !" 

He  was  about  to  ride  back  when  Bernard 
came  up  with  the  information  that  a  maga- 
zine was  burning  at  the  end  of  the  street. 

Now  Rasinski  was  convinced — now,  all 
depended  on  resolute  action. 

"  Whence  does  the  wind  come  ?"  he 
asked,  looking  around. 

"  I  think  from  the  southwest !"  replied 
Bernard. 

"Good! — but  it  seems  to  be  wavering. 
We  must  retreat !" 

Until  now  everything  had  been  hushed. 
All  at  once  in  the  distance,  from  all  sides, 
drums  and  trumpets  were  heard.  A  bustle 
followed,  as  if  some  camp  had  been  surprised. 
Cavalry  mounted  their  horses — infantry  took 
to  their  arms  and  hurried  into  line. 

Meanwhile,  the  dreadful  element  burst 
forth  in  every  direction  ;  the  wind  increased 
in  strength — driving  the  fire  like  a  burn- 
ing sea  over  the  town.  NOw  bodies  of 
men  wrapped  in  the  darkness  of  impenetra- 
ble smoke,  pressed  into  the  narrow  streets, 
not  easily  te  find  an  outlet.  Anon  flashed  an 
illumination  as  in  broad  day.  Arms  glittered 
in  the  reflection  as  if  dipped  into  the  fresh 
blood  of  the  enemy. 

Rasinsl^i  and  his  men  reached  a  street  yet 
unscathed.  The  iieiglit  of  the  houses  on 
both  sides  likewise  prevented  the  reflection 
from  being  as  glaring  as  before  ;  they  strug- 
gled in  a  kind  of  twilight,  yet  the  sky  was  cov- 
ered with  clouds  of  smoke  streaked  with  fire. 
At  the  end  of  the  street  was  a  bridge,  for  the 
moment  choked  up  by  the  artillery  retreating 
hurriedly  to  save  the  munitions  and  powder 
wagons  carelessly  left  in  the  city.  Rasinski 
commanded  a  halt. 


"  Said  I  qot,"  whiapered  Rasinski  to  Ber- 
nard and  Louis,  "  that  we  should  see  no  end 
to  misfortune  ?  I  wish  Jaromir  were  back — 
he  may  not  find  us  again  !" 

"  I  will  go  in  search  of  him  !"  said  Bernard 
with  animation. 

"  That  would  not  help  him,  and  only  add  to 
my  solicitude.  You  gave  me  trouble  enough 
by  your  disappearance  last  evening.  Where 
were  you  then  ?' 

"  In  the  garden.  I  found  it  impossible  to 
sleep.  Besides  I  made  a  discovery,  whicii 
though  of  no  lisfe  to  us  now,  yet  throws  some 
light  on  this  terrible  business." 

All  listened  with  intense  anxiety. 

"  I  was  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  the 
palace,"  commenced  Bernard,  "  for  midnight 
had  passed,  but  in  passing  through  the  walk 
which  leads  to  the  portal,  I  suddenly  saw  a 
light  glimmer  through  the  bushes.  It  was 
a  figure  wrapped  in  a  cloak  carrying  a  lan- 
tern. At  first  1  believed  it  some  one  in  search 
of  me,  yet  I  thought  it  expedient  for  me  to 
hide  behind  a  tree  until  I  knew  who  was 
approaching  ;  for  during  the  day  I  had  made 
certain  discoveries  in  the  castle." 

"  We  know  about  that,"  interrupted  Ra- 
sinski. 

"  From  my  hiding-place  I  saw  that  the 
figure  with  the  lantern  was  followed  by 
several  others.  They  turned  from  the  side 
walk  into  the  main  one  and  approached. 
They  numbered  ten.  The  man  with  the  lan- 
tern was  foremost ;  after  him  followed  a  man 
closely  wrapped  up  in  a  cloak,  and  support- 
ing a  veiled  lady;  the  rest  of  the  group 
pressed  close  after.  These  last  appeared  to 
be  servants — two  women  among  them;  one 
young  and  charming,  but  the  other  tall  and 
fantastically  dressed,  indeed  the  very  picture 
of  the  furious  woman  we  saw  on  the  walls 
of  the  Kremlin.  The  last  four  were  men, 
who  carried  something  on  their  shoulders  I 
could  not  recognise,  but  which  looked  like  a 
wrapped-up  human  body.  Having  passed,  I 
returned  to  :he  castle.  VVhen  half-way  there 
I  became  aware  of  a  smell  of  pitch  and  brim- 
stone. Hem!  thought  I,  these  must  be  the 
devil's  children.  Suddenly  the  earth  trembled 
beneath  my  feet,  and  a  deep,  heavy  noise 
shook  the  silent  night.  I  comprehended  all. 
Swift  as  lightning  I  hurried  towards  the 
building,  and  emerging  from  the  bushes  I 
discovered  it  on  fire.  I  was  running  to  give 
the  alarm  when  I  met  vou." 

"  Oh  !  Bernard '' 

y  Forward  !"  shouted  Rasinski,  interrupt- 
ing Louis,  "  the  passage  is  clear !" 

Arrived  on  the  bridge,  all  could  again  look 
around.  The  fire  was  fast  creeping  west- 
ward, the  reflection fcowing  brilliantly  in  the 
dark  river. 

"  The  wind  shifts  !"  said  Rasinski,  watcb- 


mj^. 


m^ 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


ing  the  direction  of  the  smoke,  and  flames. 
•*  See  how  the  sparks  fly  over  the  Kremlin ! 
We  must  again  change  our  course." 

An  aid  now  arrived  ai  full  gallop,  and  in 
a  loud  voice  shouted : 

"  The  cavalry  and  artillery  through  the 
gate  on  the  road  to  Petersburgh !" 

He  then  turned  his  horse  to  carry  the  or- 
der to  other  corps  he  might  meet  in  the  streets. 

"  Well,  at  least  we  know  what  we  have  to 
do,"  said  Rasinski ;  "  I  confess  that  I  was  at 
a  loss  how  to  act." 

They  turned  into  a  street  which  conducted 
to  the  desired  gate ;  but  they  soon  found 
themselves  in  tiie  midst  of  confusion.  Co- 
lumns of  infantry,  with  the  bearded  sappeurs 
at  their  head,  were  coming  at  a  quick  pace. 

"  Give  way  !  give  way  !"  exclaimed  the 
leader,  pressing  forward  with  his  men. 

Thus  the  cavalry,  pushed  aside,  could  only 
advance  step  by  step.  Meanwhile  the  flames 
behind  them  spread  awfully.  Black  and 
glowing  clouds  whirled  high  over  the  spires 
of  the  palaces,  hiding  the  sky  and  its  stars. 

But  the  streets  were  not  darkened.  Houses 
and  pavements  glowed,  as  if  illuminated  by 
the  blood-red  torches  of  the  furies.  The  storm 
raised  by  the  sea  of  fire  fell  with  a  raging 
burst  on  the  glowing  waves,  and  carried  on- 
ward sparks,  embers,  and  ashes,  which 
poured  down  like  thick  rain. 

Thus  was  a  great  event,  in  all  its  gigantic 
majesty,  displayed  to  the  eye  of  man  in  his 
weakness. 


CHAPTER  LVl. 

At  full  speed  Jaromir  rode  through  the 
streets  towards  the  gate  of  the  Kremlin.  A 
singular  fear  came  over  him  as  he  rode  alone 
through  the  abandoned  city.  No  second  fire 
had  been  discovered  by  him  yet,  no  flames 
had  yet  burst  from  the  roofs  of  other  build- 
ings ;  still  he  had  a  dark  foreboding  of  the 
truth,  and  the  black  stone  walls  of  the  city 
appeared  to  him  like  a  cold,  broken  sea  of 
lava,  which  would  suddenly  open  its  subter- 
raneous depths  to  swallow  them  up. 

His  way  lay  through  narrow,  crooked 
streets,  the  high  houses  of  which  prevented  a 
distant  view  for  some  time ;  but  on  reaching 
an  open  space,  he  saw  the  ruddy  smoke  ris- 
ing in  three  different  places  at  once,  and  sud- 
denly a  brilliant  light  fell  on  his  path. 

They  were  the  first  flames  breaking 
through  the  roof  of  the  bazaar.  Soon  the  sky 
reddened  in  other  pla#s,  and  before  he  had 
reached  the  Kremlin  he  heard  the  drums  of 
the  soldiers  statiohed  there.    An  aid  came 


galloping  past  him ;  he  called  oat  to  learn  to 
whom  he  must  make  his  report. 

"  All  is  prepared,''  the  oflScer  replied. 
"  The  Emperor  has  been  informed — Marshal 
Mortier  is  in  motion.  We  are  carrying  the 
order  for  the  cavalry  and  artillery  lo  leave  the 
city  as  soon  as  possible.  The  sappeurs, 
miners,  and  infantry,  on  the  contrary,  are  to 
assemlile  and  assist  in  extinguishing  the  fire. 
All  reports  are  to  be  made  to  Marshal  Mor- 
tier." 

Jaromir  saw  that  he  could  do  nothing  bet- 
ter than  ride  back  and  inform  Rasinski  of 
these  orders.  He  set  out  with  speed,  but 
quickly  lost  himself  in  a  labyrinth  of  streets. 
Finally,  he  reached  an  open  place  as  bright  as 
day.  With  surprise  he  observed  that  he  was 
close  to  the  spot  where  his  bivouac  lay,  hav- 
ing struck  it  from  a  diflerent  side.  The  burn 
ing  building  on  his  right  was  the  same  which 
Rasinski  had  occupied ;  the  flames  flew  high 
over  the  roof — the  smoke  whiriing  in  thick 
clouds  over  the  opposite  houses,  and  covering 
the  entire  view  on  that  side.  Of  troops  no- 
thing more  could  be  seen ;  but  by  the  still 
burning  bivouac  fires,  Jaromir  saw  that  their 
march  had  been  hurried. 

The  unhappy  humor  in  which  he  had  lately 
been  thrown  had  been  momentarily  chased 
away  by  the  more  portentous  scene,  but 
now,  with  the  flames  in  twenty  different 
places,  fears  for  Alisette  filled  his  breast. 

"  Has  she  been  warned  ?  Has  she  fled  in 
time  ?"  were  his  shuddering  ejaculations. 

He  rode  at  full  speed  towards  the  gate  of 
the  garden.  It  was  too  narrow  to  ride  through. 
Quickly  he  jumped  down  from  his  horse  and 
opened  the  gate.  Now  he  plainly  saw  that 
the  palace  was  lost,  although  the  flames 
had  not  gained  full  power  yet.  Without  car- 
ing for  his  horse,  he  quickly  ran  through  the 
shrubbery  to  reach  the  walk  which  led  direct 
through  the  park. 

Breathlessly  he  reached  the  end  of  the 
garden.  The  palace  stood  before  him  silent 
and  lonely ;  no  one  seemed  to  have  been 
awakened  throughout  its  wide  walls — no  one 
suspected  the  danger.  The  occupants  had 
then  either  fled,  or  slept  to  wake  in  destruc- 
tion. 

Without  stopping,  but  with  a  heart  pain- 
fully beating  for  his  beloved,  Jaromir  threw 
himself  into  this  crater  of  death — ran  up  the 
stai-rs,  and  stood  now  before  the  door  of  a 
room.  It  was  locked.  He  knorked — no 
answer.  Alisette  might  sleep  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  did  not  hear  him;  with  a  vio- 
lent kick  he  burst  open  the^door. 

"Alisette!"  he  exclaimed.  "Alisette! 
Where  are  you  ?" 

All  remained  silent.    Had  she  escaped,  or 
would  he  still  find  her  in  another  room  ? 
By  the  light  of  the  fire  which  streamed 


.J^ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


177. 


through  the  high  trees,  he  sought  and  found 
the^door  of  the  adjoining  apartment.  He 
entei'ed  ;  here  too,  all  was  silent,  but  a  ni^- 
lamp  was  burning  on  a  table  in  the  corner. 
This  he  took  up  and  advanced.  All  remain- 
ed silent;  nothing  was  heard  even  of  the 
continually  increasing  noise  in  the  streets. 

Jaromir's  suspicion  that  Alisette  still 
slept  was  nowise  abated.  He  quickly  glanced 
roand  the  apartment,  then  passed .  through 
it.  He  opened  the  door  of  a  second  chamber 
and  looked  in.  Here  he  saw  a  bed  with 
closed  silk  curtains.  A  secret  shudder  ran 
through  his  veins. 
"  Alisette !  Alisette  !"  he  exclaimed  wildly. 
"  Who  is  there  ?"  asked  a  voice,  with  a  tone 
of  sadden  fear. 

••  Alisette,  I  come  to  save  you — the  palace 
is  in  flames !" 

With  these  words  he  approached  the  bed 
whence  the  voice  came. 

"  Back !  back !"  cried  the  girl,  holding  the 
curtains  tightly  with  one  hand,  and  stretching 
forth  the  other  against  her  lover's  nearer  ap- 
proach. Jaromir  thought  that  this  fear  was 
created  by  a  feeling  of  bashfulness.  He  had 
no  time  to  conquer  it,  however,  for  a  manly 
voice  the  next  moment  exclaimed : 
"  What  the  devil  is  all  this  ?" 
Jaromir  stood  paralysed.  Alisette  uttered 
a  loud  scream.  At  the  same  moment  the 
man  jumped  out  of  the  bed. 

"Who  breaks  in  here?"  he  demanded, 
shaking  with  rage  ;  but  before  Jaromir  could 
answer,  Alisette  threw  herself  at  his  feet 
and  embraced  his  knees,  exclaiming : 
"  Do  not  condemn  me  !  I  am  innocent !" 
In  stupid  amazement  Jaromir  stood  be- 
numbed— crushed.  Alisette  convulsively 
clung  to  his  knees.  Her  dishevelled  hair 
fell  over  her  naked  shoulders  and  heaving  bo- 
som. 

"  I  will  not  rise  before  you  have  pardoned 
me !"  she  exclaimed,  pressing  her  face  to 
the  floor.  "  And  if  you  will  not,  then  trample 
me  under  your  feet,  that  I  may  die  on  the 
spot !" 

Jaromir  neither  saw  nor  heard.     A  rough 
hand  now  took  his  arm  and  shook  him  viu 
lenlly. 

"  I  demand  an  instant  explanation,  Count !" 
said  the  man. 

Bewildered,  Jaromir  looked  around.  Flame 
was  just  breaking  through  thereof  of  an  ad- 
jacent building.  By  its  light  he  recognised 
Colonel  Regnard  standing  before  him  in  a 
cloak  with  which  he  had  quickly  enveloped 
himself.  The  young  man  s^irank  back ; 
Alisette,  half-fainting,  sank  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  demand  again  what  brings  you  here," 
cried  the  Colonel  furiously ;  "  answer  me,  if 
you  are  not  a  coward  !" 

Regnard  did  not  think  that  danger  from 

12 


fire  was  so  near ;  he  saw  it  certainly,  but 
like  an  old  soldier,  took  little  heed. 

Alisette  now  sprang  up  in  alarm.  She 
threw  herself  between  Jaromir  and  the 
Colonel,  and  wringing'  her  hands,  exclaimed: 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  fly ! — I  will 
confess  all !" 

But  with  a  dreadful  burst  of  rage,  Jj,romir 
seized  the  naked  arm  of  the  praying  girl — 
shook  her  as  the  lion  would  shake  a  roe, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  Confess,  wretch !  Didst  thou  calumni- 
ate Lodoiska  ?" 

"  Pardon  !  Mercy !"  tremblingly  cried 
the  temptress,  and  would  have  thrown  her- 
self again  on  her  knees  at  his  feet.  But  furi- 
ously Jaromir  dashed  her  from  him,  causing 
her  to  fall  upon  the  bed,  while  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Accursed  viper !  Fly,  that  I  tasif  not 
become  thy  murderer !" 

Regnard  seized  his  arm,  but  the  superior 
strength  of  Jaromir's  youthful  powers  over- 
came it. 

"  We  shall  meet  again  ;  now  save  your- 
self; for  the  palace  is  burning — " 

A  subterraneous  explosion  cut  short  tHh 
last  words.  The  palace  trembled — the  win- 
dows rattled,  and  stones  fell  from  the  shaken 
roof. 

"  Hell  and  the  devil !  What  is  that  ?"  ex- 
claimed Regnard. 

"Almighty  God!"  exclaimed  Alisette, 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  To  such  as  thee,  Grod  shows  no  mercy !" 
cried  Jaromir,  threateningly  raising  his  hand. 
"  These  vaults  fall  in  over  thy  crimes,  and 
the  flames  of  hell  will  take  hold  of  thee !" 

"  Mercy !  mercy  !  Save  me !"  cried  the 
miserable  woman,  approaching  Jaromir  ;  but 
she  was  unable  to  stand  on  her  feet,  and  fell 
to  the  floor. 

"  We  cannot  let  her  perish !"  said  Reg- 
nard resolutely ;  "  help  me  to  carry  her 
down." 

He  tried  to  raise  her ;  Jaromir  stood  gazing 
like  a  statue  upon  the  inanimate  girl.  Mean- 
while the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened, 
and  the  foster  child  of  Alisette — the  little, 
three  year  old  daughter  of  her  sister,  entered, 
and  weeping,  said  in  a  stammering  voice  : 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  afraid !" 

At  the  sight  of  this  helpless  being,  human 
feeling  returned  to  Jaromir's  heart. 

"  No  !  you  shall  not  perish,  dear  creature," 
he  said  mildly ;  "  neither  you  nor  this  sinner !" 

He  took  the  child  and  wrapped  her  in 
one  of  Alisette's  shawls.  This  latter  had 
already  been  covered  with  a  cloak  by  Reg- 
nard, but  he  was  unable  to  lift  her  on  ac- 
count of  his  wound.  Jaromir  gave  hira  tho 
child,  saying : 

"  Take  you  the  little  one !"  ^' 

He  then  approached  Alisette,  raised  her 


178 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


with  youthful  strength,  and  made  for  the 
door.  "  Follow  me,"  he  said,  "  the  garden 
is  still  within  our  reach." 

Breathless  and  with  burned  hair  they 
gained  a  safe  retreat  in  the  garden.  They 
there  set  down  their  burdens  and  drew 
breath. 

"  We  are  in  safety  !"  said  Jaromir  in  the 
gloomy* tone  of  indifftrence.  "  A  gate  leads 
through  the  garden-wall,  in  case  that  of  the 
palace  should  be  burning.  As  to  what  con- 
cerns us,  Colonel,  I  think  we  shall  meet 
again !" 

Regnard  replied  not.  He  now  suspected 
all,  and  felt  that  he  could  not  ask  further  ex- 
planation from  the  unhappy  youth.  Jaromir 
quickly  passed  through  the  garden  to  rejoin 
his  friends. 

The  faithful  animal,  although  not  fastened, 
still  stood  at  the  garden  gate,  as  if  expecting 
his  master.  Jaromir  sprang  into  the  saddle 
and  rode  at  full  speed  through  the  streets. 

On  all  sides  buildings  were  tottering  and 
falling.  The  night  was  brighter  than  day. 
Only  where  the  sraoke  and  thick  rain  of  ashes 
lilted  the  air  was  it  dark.  Lines  of  houses 
were  burning  in  solitude — all  had  fled. 
Wherever  the  fire  took,  a  struggle  with  the 
too  powerful  element  was  in  vain.  The  flames 
crackled  all  around.  It  seemed  to  Jaromir 
.as  if  the  furies  of  hell  had  been  unleashed  to 
pursue  him.  The  atmosphere,  heated  like  a 
fnrna:ce,  could  scarcely  be  breathed.  His 
eyeballs  burned — the  pain  piercing  through 
to  his  brain. 

"  And  must  I  die  here  thus  ?"  he  cried  in 
despair. 

With  exertion  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
stared  into  the  crackling  sea  of  fire,  to  spy 
nut  an  outlet  somewhere.  A  gust  of  wind 
arose,  powerfully  assuaged  the  flames,  and 
severiag  them  into  glowing  walls,  broke  its 
way  through,  Jaromir  rode  into  the  open 
aperture  ;  for  a  moment  the  flames  parted  to 
a  great  distance  and  gave  him  an  insight  to 
the  place  where  safety  was  to  be  found,  but 
already  they  closed  again  over  his  head. 
•Suddenly,  thunder  rolled  and  rattled  terribly, 
a  roof  fell  in,  burning  beams  and  glowing 
Btones  crashed  and  tumbled  ;  Jaromir's  hojse, 
struck  by  a  large  stone  on  the  back,  dropped 
beneath  him.  Benumbed  he  lay  on  the  ground ; 
but  recovering  the  shock,  proceeded  on  foot. 
Already  he  gave  himself  up  forlost.  With  half- 
closed  eyes,  for  he  could  not  bear  the  full 
brightness,  he  made  towards  the  place 
where  for  a  moment  he  had  seen  an  open 
space.  Suddenly,  in  this  desert  of  flames  an 
earnest,  manly  voice  readied  his  ear. 

"  Can  you  point  a  way  out  of  these  burn- 
ing streets  ?"  he  was  asked. 

Glad  at  having  found  at  least  one  compa- 
nion m  death,  he  turned  to  the  side  whence 


the  sound  proceeded  ;  but  suddenly,  he  stood 
petrified  as  he  perceived  the  Emperor  who, 
accompanied  by  few  attendants  only,  emei|^ 
frpm  a  narrow,  crooked  alley.  This  man 
himself — he  on  whose  decision  the  fate  of  all 
depends,  is  seen  floundering  amid  a  burning 
sea  of  fire,  where  safety  is  nowhere  to  be 
found.     No,  he  cannot  be  lost ! 

This  prophetic  incident  gave  him  new 
strength  and  composure.  His  own  courage 
rose  upoif  witnessing  the  calm  resolution  of 
that  man  who,  with  the  same  unchanged  fea^ 
battle,  looked  upon  the  desolation  around 
tures  with  which  he  guided  the  storm  of 
him. 

The  guides  of  the  great  chief  seemed  con- 
fused by  horror,  for  they  vainly  sought  the 
old  traces  of  the  streets. 

"  Do  you  know  of  no  outlet  ?"  the  Empe- 
ror asked. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  replied  Jaromir  firmly ; 
"  but  the  way  leads  throuorh  the  flames  yon- 
der."  ^ 

"  Well,  then,  we  have  no  time  to  lose,"  re- 
plied the  Emperor,  turning  his  steps  in  the 
direction  J^ftromir  pointed  out.  Jaromir 
took  the  lead,  proudly  resolved  to  succeed  or 
become  the  first  victim.  But,  as  if  the  ele- 
ments even  in  their  rage  did  not  dare  to  op- 
pose the  conqueror,  the  wind  dispersed  the 
flames,  and  opened  through  them  a  way  for 
him.  Jaromir  rushed  on  over  burning  em- 
bers and  ashes.  Their  breath  became  fire, 
their  eyes  burned  to  the  brain;  lips  and 
tongues  became  scorched  and  blistered  ;  but 
suddenly,  a  fresh  wind  blew  into  their  glowing 
faces,  the  open,  free  air  was  reached,  and  at 
the  last  extremity,  the  united  cry  burst  forth 
— "  Noire  Empereur  est  sauve  .'" 


CHAPTER  LVn. 

September  had  arrived,  but  the  heavens 
were  still  cloudless  and  bright ;  the  days 
glided  away  calmly  in  sunshine  and  mild 
weather.  It  is  true  that  the  foliage  had  be- 
gun to  change  color — even  to  fall;  yet  the 
rielils  were  decked  in  luxuriant  verdure  and 
adorned  with  a  variety  of  autumnal  flowers. 
Consequently,  the  countess,  Lodoiska,  and 
Mary  had  a  pleasant  journey ;  what  was 
wanting  in  the.  landscape  was  made  up  by 
the  beautiful  season  ;  the  happy  quietude  of 
which,  uniting  with  the  light  touch  of  melan- 
choly aroused  by  viewing  nature  in  autumn, 
gave  a  zest  to  the  sympathy  of  friendship, 
and  harmonised  well  with  the  frame  of  mind 
of  the  two  young  ladies.  ,   .„ 


■4 


NAPOLEOJrS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Hi' 


The  palace  of  the  coantess,  though  its  ar- 
^aog^ments  corresponded  with   a    brilliant 
style  of  living,  was,  h9wever,  quite  a  homely 
abode,  such.as  ladies  who  wish  to  pass  the 
days  in  xetirement,  desire.    They  had  moved 
to  the  lower  part  of  the  left  wing,  which 
opened  upon  the  garden.     The  glass  door  of 
the  saloon  opened  directly  upon  a  slightly 
sloping  grass-plot,  surrounded  by  alder  and 
jasmine  bushes.     Rose-bushes  were  planted 
in  a  semi-circle ;  tlieir  blossoms  had  withered 
long  ago,  but  in  their  place,  glittering  in  the 
middle  of  the  terrace,  was  a  rich  mcdalHon 
of  late-blooming  flowers,  among  which  a  bed 
of  many-colored  starwuods,  carefully  nursed 
by  the  gardener,  were  conspicuous.     In  that 
inner  part  of  ihe  wing  which  looked  over  the 
court-yard  and  garden  lived  Mary  and  Lodo- 
iska.     They  loved  each  other  as  sifters,  and 
would,  under  other  circumstances,  have  been 
attached  to  each  other,  were  it  only  on  ac- 
count of  their  mutual  condition.    Vines  were 
trained  up  to  tiie  windows  of  their  bedrooms, 
being  close  to  the  iron  railings  which  crossed 
the  lawn  from  one  wing  to  the  other,  separa- 
ting it  from  the  gardens :  but  the  fruit  seldom 
ripened  on  this  espalier,  still  they  disguised 
the  wall  in  a  remarkable  manner ;  and  the 
sunbeams,  without  being  entirely  shut  out, 
were  agreeably  modified  by  the  green  and 
tremulous  shade.     From  their  bedrooms  they 
passed  through  a  library  to  the  boudoir,  which 
adjoined  the  saloon,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
which  were  the  apartments  of  the  countess, 
running  parallel  with  those  of  Lodoiska  and 
Mary,  and  separated  from  them  by  a  corridor. 
Even  these  possessed  a  view  over  the  gar- 
dens, but  limited  by  the  wall,  which  here  was 
only  tliirty  paces  distant,  and  the  intervening 
space,  planted  with  thick  shrubbery,  nicely 
concealing  the  wall  which  skirted  the  street 
where  FranSoioe  Alisette  had  been  living,  in 
a  range  projecting  from  the  side  of  the  main 
building.     A  row  of  tall  poplars  beyond  the 
wall  deprived  the  inhabitants  of  the  street  of 
any  view  into  the  garden,  or  through  the  win- 
dows of  the  palace.     Thus  all  was  quiet  and 
secluded,  and  the  dwelling  caught  from  the 
dark  thicket  in  which  it  was  ensconced  a 
shade  of  mournfulness  which  well  corres- 
ponded with  the  secret  feelings  of  its  occu- 
pants. 

In  this  manner,  secluded  even  in  the  midst 
of  a  populous  and  busy  city,  the  three  ladies 
lived  a  peaceful  life,  spending  their  time  in 
the  pursuit  of  female  occupations.  Seldom 
was  a  visit  received — more  seldom  returned. 
Their  retirement  became  daily  more  agreeable 
to  themselves,  and  they  enjoyed  it  with 
greater  pleasure  the  more  they  became  ac- 
quainted with  each  other,  and  their  mutual 
affection  increased.  The  countess,  who  much 
exceeded  the  two  maidens  in  years,  surpassed 


them  also  in  the  more  solid  advantages  of 
mind.   She  was  endowed  with  all  the  tender- 
ness of  the  female  character,  yet  under  the 
control  of  judgment ;  and  she  was  exempt 
from  the  weaknesses  of  feeling  which  more 
particularly  belong  to  the   inexperience  of 
youth.  Growing  up  during  important  changes 
of  the  times,  she  was  at  an  early  age  drawn 
from  the  narrow  sphere  of  ordinary  female 
life  into  the  more  active  and  rapid  career  of 
the  world.     She  had  abandoned  her  home  to 
live  altogether  for  the  sake  of  her  fatherland. 
Her  soul  sympathised  with  the  public  desti- 
nies— she  was  an  enthusiastic  daughter  of  her 
nation.  Upon  Mary  also  the  important  events 
of  the  day  had  exercised  an  enlivening  in- 
fluence ;  even  she  burned  for  an  oppressed 
fatherland,  though  in  quite  a  different  way. 
The  countess  took  an  active,  spirit^  part  in 
the  public  afTairs,  her  heart  already  throbbed 
for  them  from  habit,  and  she  missed  the  loss 
of  her  quietude  of   mind   no  more.      She 
eagerly  perused  the  newspapers  and  political 
pamphlets  of  the  day  ;  she  was  familiar  with 
the  history  of  all  the  more  important  occur- 
rences, followed  them  with  acuteness,  and 
anticipated  the  consequences  on  her  country 
of  events  to  come.     Mary,  on  the  contrary, 
loved,  above  everylhing,  her  country  and  the 
nation  to   which  she  belonged.     She   was 
German  in  language  and  principle ;  her  noble 
hatred  was  directed  merely  against  the  ene- 
mies and  oppressors  of  her  own  country ; — 
other  destinies  of  the  world  she  looked  upon 
not  with  indifference,  indeed,  but  from  a  dis- 
creet distance,  and  with  that  limited  sense  of 
female  regard  which  does  not  require  direct 
participation  in  them  ;  tharefore  she  willingly 
returned  to  her  homely  and  quiet  sanctuary, 
and  was    patient  since  she  could  not  act. 
With  the  deliverance  of  her  fatherland  her 
participation  in  public  affairs  would  cease,  or 
at  least  fall  back  into  that  retirement  natural 
to  the  discreet  female.     By  the  contest  she 
hoped  merely  to  gain  a  quiet  sanctuary  of 
German  simplicity.     On  the   contrary,  the 
wishes  of  the  countess  always  extended  be- 
yond the  threshold  of  home.     Mary  wished 
for  her  country's  happiness,  rest,  and  peace ; 
it  was  the  habitual  tendency  of  thought  in 
the  countess  to  dwell  on  its  splendor,  glory, 
and  power.    On  the  exciting  picture  of  a  na- 
tional war  Mary  beheld  her  countrymen  only, 
and  her  nearest  friends,  as  their  representa- 
tives ;  the  countess,  on  the  contrary,  kept  her 
eyes  on  the  heroes  of  her  nation,  and   fol- 
lowed anxiously  the  fate  of  its  chieftains.  In 
the  principal  place  of  her  picture  Mary  surely 
beheld  on  the  battle-field,  in  the  foreffround 
her  brother,  Bernard,  and,  as  she  bashfully  ad- 
mitted, Rasinski.     The  countess  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  fight ;  her  eyes  followed  the  ban- 
ners  and  their  noble  bearers — even  in  her 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


brother  she  beheld  the  generoas  leader  fore- 
most in  peril,  as  became  him,  on  the  day  of 
decision.    Lodoiska,  on  the  contrary,  wholly 
kind  and  loving,  heard  the  dull  thunder  of  the 
battle  from  the  distance  only,  but  saw  before 
her  eyes  the  bleeding  lover,  sick  or  dying  on 
the  ground.  Love  filled  so  entirely  her  tender 
heart  that  there  was  no  room  for  any  other 
thought.     Even  the  superstitious  reverence 
with  which  she  daily  attended  the  celebration 
of  mass  was  subordinate  to  the  anguish  of 
feeling,  as  her  prayers  arose  chiefly  for  the 
friend  of  her  soul.     As  is  generally  the  case 
with  noble  minds,  each  of  the  ladies  consi- 
dered the  other  to  be  better  and  more  accom- 
plished than  herself,  only  because  she  pos- 
sessed  what   was  wanting  in   themselves. 
Thus  Lodoiska  regarded  her  protectress  with 
the  most  profound  respect,  and  humbly  sub- 
mitted to  Mary  because  she  was  astonished 
at  the  power  of  both  in  compelling  her  to  love 
them.     The  countess  and  Mary  revered  the 
sacred  flame  in  Lodoifika's  breast,  which  se- 
parated every  unworthy  particle  from  the  pu- 
rity which  filled  the  heart  of  the  girl. 

Upon  the  table  of  the  Countess  was  spread 
a  map  of  Russia.  Guided  by  the  newspaper 
reports,  she  could  minutely  follow  every 
march,  every  movement  of  the  army,  tracing 
the  line  with  pins,  the  heads  of  which  she 
had  furnished  with  ingenious  signs,  to  ena- 
ble her  with  a  rapid  glance  to  discern,  not 
only  enemy  and  friend,  but  also  the  position 
of  each  separate  corps.  For  Rasinski's  regi- 
ment hcd  Lodoiska  taken  a  golden  pin  from 
her  hair  ;  its  bright  head  showed  her  every 
day  where  her  heart  should  seek  her  destined 
husband.  t 

"  Even  we,"  said  Mary, "  here  at  a  distance 
— when  the  battle  is  over  we  receive  intelli- 
gence that  our  dearest  are  still  unharmed 
among  the  living — even  we  read  the  reports 
of  it  with  anxiously  beating  hearts.  How 
would  it  be,  if  destruction  were  so  near  us  as 
the  inhabitants  of  Smolensku  ?  If,  like  them, 
we  knew  our  fathers,  brothers  and  husbands 
were  before  the  gates,  engaged  in  a  struggle 
for  life,  for  liberty,  country^for  our  lives  and 
for  our  honor  7" 

"  My  excited  feelings  would  carry  me  to 
the  walls,"  cried  the  Countess,  as  usual 
when  animated,  pacing  the  apartment  with 
rapid  steps.  "  I  would  watch  the  progress 
of  the  battle  with  my  own  eyes  !" 

"  I  should  not  be  aWe  to  do  that  "  repJied 
Mary,  with  a  mild  countenance.  "  Still  I  be- 
lieve," she  continued,  in  the  uncertain  tone 
of  modesty,,  *'  that  I  should  possess  firmness 
enough  to  nurse  the  wounded  !" 

"  Alas  !  and  I  !"  exclaimed  Lodoiska, 
sighing,  "  I  should  certainly  be  capable  of 
nothing  save  praying  in  the  sanctuary  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  for  the  departed  !" 


On  a  close  September  morning,  Lodoiska, 
in  coiiformity  with  her  daily  practice,  accom- 
panied by  a  female  sen'ant,  repaired  to  ■the 
nearest  church.  Her  path  carried  her  past 
the  hotel  of  the  French  Minister  at  Warsaw, 
Herr  Von  Pradt.  Before  the  door  stood  a 
courier's  vehicle,  and  she  observed  a  remark- 
able commotion  among  the  servants.  Some 
intelligence  of  importance  must  have  arrived. 
She  approached  with  tremWing  heart.  Too 
bashful  herself,  she  directed  her  servant  to 
make  the  necessary  inquiries  and  rejoin  her 
as  she  slowly  repassed  the  hotel.  As,  how- 
ever, she  came  past  the  door,  an  officer  in 
uniform  came  out ;  he  started  on  perceiving 
her,  and  appeared  to  know  her.  Rapidly  ad- 
vancing, he  bowed,  and  addressed  her : 

"  I  hope  perhaps  too  much  from  the  accu- 
racy of  your  memory,  if  I  presamed  that 
you  still  remember  me,  gracious  Countess  ?" 
Lodoiska  started  with  maiden  bashfulness ; 
yet  she  instantly  recognised  Captain  Arn- 
beim,  from  Toplitz. 

"  f  do,  indeed,  sir,  remember  yoo,"  was  her 
answer  ;  "  though  I  remained  but  a  few  days 
at  Toplitz — and  indeed  it  is  but  a  short  time 
since  we  left  that  place.  What  brings  yoo 
to  Warsaw,  Captain  ?" 

"  I  am  perfectly  restored  to  health  now, 
and  on  my  way  to  the  army  in  Volhynia." 

"  It  seems  as  if  even  just  now  important 
information  has  arrived  for  the  French  Min- 
ister," said  Lodoiska,  turning  round  to  see 
whether  her  servant  was  approaching. 

"  Of  the  most  important  character,"  an- 
swered the  Captain  ; "  the  courier  has  broaght 
the  news  this  very  moment.  A  great  battle 
has  been  fooght  within  two  days'  nareh  of 
Moscow." 

"  Much  blood  is  then  shed  ?"  fahered  Lo- 
doiska, trembling,  and  growing  pale. 

As  they  walked  along,  Arnheim  observed 
not  how  violently  she  was  agitated  by  hia 
words,  and  continued  : 

"  Blood,  without  an  example  in  the  histoiy 
of  war  I  The  number  of  the  dead  and  wound- 
ed is  not  exactly  known  yet — but  according 
to  the  report,  estimated  from  sixty  to  seventy 
thousand,  on  both  sides  !  The  victory  of  the 
Emperor  is  pnrchased  by  immense  sacri- 
fice r" 

Suddenly  the  picture  of  the  battle  stood 
before  Lodoiska  in  all  its  dreadful  colors, 
and  filled  her  mind  with  such  horror  that  she 
was  overcome  with  her  emotions  ; — a  deadly 
pallor  overspread  her  countenance  j — she 
stepped  backward  a  pace  or  two,,  and  ex- 
claiming in  a  faint  voice  :  "  Holy  virgin  !" 
sank  to  the  earth. 

Arnheim  immediately  raised  her  in  hisanns. 
In  his  embarrassment  he  looked  around  for 
aid,  when  Lodoiska's  servant  speedily  ft|K 
proacbed,  crying  in  a  lamentable  tone :    ■»•;' 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


■*  For  heaven's  8d,ke,  what  is  the  matter 
writlitheJady?" 

"  The  news  of  a  battle  has  alarmed  her ; 
let  us  carry  her  into  the  Minister's  hotel !" 
said  Arnheim. 

Lodoiska,  however,  opened  her  eyes  again. 
A  dark  gk)w  of  shame  passed  over  the  mar* 
ble  of  her  cheeks ;  and  she  sighed  heavily. 
She  was  not  able  to  speak  ;  yet  she  raised 
herself,  and  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  the 
servant. 

"  How  can  I  obtain  forgiveness  for  my  im- 
prudence?" said  Arnheim.  "  We  soldiers 
are  rude  to  that  degree,  that  on  the  intelli- 
gence of  a  battle  we  never  think  of  the 
victims." 

"  You  are  not  to  blame,"  answered  Lodo- 
iska, **  it  was  only  my  foolishness."  Then 
her  tears  burst  forth.  "  I  must  go  home ; 
excuse  me,  only,"  she  added,  with  difficulty. 
"  Dare  I  offer  you  my  arm,  or  shall  I  call 
for  a  coach  ?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"  I  shall  feel  obliged  to  you,  if  you  would 

please  to  support  me,  as  I  am  rather  feeble." 

Arnheim  gave  her  his  arm,  while  on  the 

other  side  Lodoiska  leant  upon  her  servant ; 

and  thus  they  proceeded  to  the  palace  of  the 

Countess. 

Happily  Lodoiska's  \swoon  was  but  for  a 
moment.  The  attention  of  the  crowd  in  the 
street  was  so  earnestly  directed  towards  the 
Minister's  hotel,  that  the  occurrence  passed 
off  unobserved.  Turning  into  a  lane,  the 
party  reached  the  palace  unmolested  by  the 
curiosity  of  troublesome  spectators. 

The  Captain  had  no  difficulty  in  explaining 
to  himself  the  cause  of  the  sudden  terror  of 
Lodoiska ;  for  who  had  not  a  friend,  a  brother, 
a  father  in  the  army  ?  Meanwhile,  he  was 
too  discreet  •  to  make  any  further  enquiries, 
and  endeavored  to  modify  the  frightful  im- 
pression of  his  first  information  by  every 
consolatory  suggestion. 

Having  arrived  at  the  gate  of'the  house, 
Lodoiska  said : 

"I  thank  you,  from  my  heart,  for  your 
kindness.  I  would  certainly  ask  you  to  ac- 
company me  farther  ;  yet " 

Arnheim  interrupted  her,  and  replied  with 
animation : 

"  Seclusion  is  necessary  in  the  first  mo- 
ments of  agitation  ;  still  I  trust  you  will  not 
deny  me  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  on  a 
more  favorable  occasion." 

Lodoiska  looked  gratefully  at  him,  as  she 
replied. 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  we  should  not 
see  you  again  ;  we  shall,  I  hope,  be  able  to 
bid  you  welcome  under  less  painful  circum- 
stances." 

So  saying,  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
turning  quickly,  entered  the  house.  With 
difficulty    she   reached    the    quiet   garden- 


room,  where  Mary  was  the  first  friend  sh* 
met. 

"  Lend  me  your  strength,  Man? !"  cried 
she,  opening  her  arms  to  her  friend.  "  Lend 
me  your  strength,  dearest,  that  I  may  endure 
this  agony  until  further  information  !" 

"  Gracious  heavens !  what  has  occurred  ?" 
exclaimed  Mary,  frightened,  while  gently 
embracing  the  girl,  and  conducting  her  to  a 
couch.  After  a  few  minutes,  and  in  the  great- 
est agitation,  Lodoiska  said : 

"  A  battle  hiLs  been  fought ;  seventy  thou- 
sand dead  and  woaaded  cover  the  field.  Th« 
dreadful  thought  of  tbia  terrible  scene  will 
drive  me  to  madness.  Alas «  Mary,  I  see 
nothing  but  blood,  and  the  pale  features  of 
the  dead !" 

The  Countess  entered ;  by  the  servant  she 
had  already  been  informed  of  what  had  oc- 
curred. Her  feelings  on  the  victory  were 
less  excited  than  the  anguish  of  her  friends. 
Kindly  and  calmly  she  approached  the  terri- 
fied Lodoiska,  saying : 

"  Come  to  my  heart,  dearest  daughter ; 
shed  your  tears  upon  the  breast  of  your 
friend ;  you  will  then  be  calm,  and  can 
await  with  composure  farther  tidings  which 
must  soon  reach  us." 

This  example  of  firmness  and  gentle  sym- 
pathy sensiWy  awakened  the  courage  of  the 
desponding  girl. 

After  a  few  minutes  a  servant  entered, 
announcing  that  Captain  Arnheim  anxiously 
desired  admittance,  as  he  brought  good 
tidings. 

Agreeably  surprised,  though  somewhat 
embarrassed,  Mary  learned  now,  for  the  first 
time,  the  presence  of  this  acquaintance  from 
home,  whose  great  attention  to  her  could  not 
have  escaped  her  notice.  Ixxloiska,  occupied 
only  with  the  battle,  which  caused  her  so 
much  sorrow,  had  not  thought  of  him  at  all ; 
and  through  the  servant  the  Countess  only 
knew  that  a  strange  officer  had  supported 
and  conducted  Lodoiska  home. 

"  Bid  him  welcome  !"  said  the  Countess, 
addressing  the  servant. 

With  trembling  hearts  all  listened  to  his 
quick  steps  in  the  saloon. 

"  Excuse  my  sudden  entrance,"  he  said  to 
the  Countess ;  "  but  I  could  not  possibly  deny 
myself  the  pleasure  of  being  the  bearer  of 
this  note,  which  no  doubt  will  remove  your 
apprehensions  with  respect  to  the  battle." 
He  then  handed  her  an  unsealed  paper,  on 
which  were  marked  with  lead-pencil  a  few 
words  in  the  Polish  language. 

"  A  thousand,  thousand  thanks  !"  said  the 
Countess,  after  having  rapidly  perused  the 
paper.  "  Here,  Lodoiska,  read  yourself  what 
my  brother  writes : 

"  Dear  Sistek — ^The  battle  is  over  ;— • 


18S 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ,•  OR, 


I  am  alive ; — our  nearest  friends  are  unhurt. 
More  in  my  next." 

Lodoiska  turned  her  looks  to  heaven,  and 
folded  her  hands  over  her  hreast,  unable  to 
utter  a  word.  Even  Mary  was  deeply  agitated. 

"All  escaped  !"  said  she,  and  a  tear  of  the 
sincerest  emotion  trembled  in  her  eyes. 
"  That  is  more  than  I  dared  hope  myself. 
Receive  my  gratitude  for  your  message !" 

As  great  happiness  or  misfortune  unbo- 
soms noble  l>eart3,  that  they  no  more  observe 
the  conventional  barriers  of  life,  thus  Mary, 
unfettered  by  restraint,  stepped  forward  to 
Arnheim,  and  kindly  gave  him  her  hand.  He 
was  abashed  in  the  extreme,  because  of 
Mary's  presence  here,  "which  he  did  not 
expect,  and  of  which  he  had  not  been  aware 
before.  With  agreeable  surprise  he  seized 
the  offered  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  You  here,  Mademoiselle  J"  he  exclaimed, 
gazing  perplexedly. 

"  I  have  availed  myself  of  a  most  friendly 
invitation,"  answered  Mary  ;  "■  yet  to  meet 
with  a  countryman,  and  especially  one  with 
whom  we  are  intimately  acquainted,  in  a 
foreign  place,  \a  truly  a  happy  occurrence." 

"  Yes — certainly,  certainly  J"  exelaimed 
the  Captain,  pressing  her  hand  with  such 
earnestness  as  to  cause  Mary  gently  to  with- 
draw it. 

"  We '  owe  you  our  grateful  acknowledg- 
ments. Captain  Arnheim,"  said  the  Coun- 
tess.   "  But  how  did  you  get  the  paper  ?" 

"In  the  simplest  manner  prossible,"  an- 
swered the  Captain.  "  I  had  just  announced 
myself  at  the  bureau  of  the  legation  as  the 
courier  arrived.  An  officer  who  is  employed 
there,  told  me  that,  as  usual,  t}»e  courier 
brought  a  number  of  loose  letters  and  memo- 
randa, partly  on  small  pieces  of  paper  un- 
sealed—partly on  prepared  covers,  and  partly 
written  with  pencil,  \rf  which  those  who 
had  taken  part  m  the  battle  dispatched  the 
earliest  information  to  their  respective  friends. 
This  caused  me  to  think  that  there  might  be 
some  news  for  you,  gracious  Countess.  I 
hastened  back  to  the  bureau,  and  actually 
found  this  open  note  written  with  pencil.  1 
applied  for  it,  todeliverto  you  forthwith,  which 
was  obligingly  consented  to,  as  the  legation 
is  anxious  to  see  these  letters  immediately 
dispatched." 

"  Do  you  believe,  sir,"  asked  the  Countess, 
"  that  this  victory  will  decide  the  war  ?" 

"  Beyond  all  doubt,  madame.  Two  short 
days'  march  from  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
country,  it  will  throw  that  city  into  the 
hands  of  the  Emperor,  and  by  this  the  fate  of 
Russia  may  be  decided." 

"But  the  empire  extends  far  beyond  Mos- 
cow; the  most  flourishing^  an  J  populous 
provinces  are  situated  at  the  foot  of  the 


southern  portion  of  the)  Ural,  I  would  oot 
consider  Russia  entirely  conquered,  even  if 
both  its  capitals  were  in  the  hands  of  the 
Emperor." 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Arnheim,  "  hot 
its  moral  strength  is  Iwoken  by  the  taking  of 
its  ancient  capital.  The  continuation  of  the 
war  is  undoubtedly  possible  by  physical 
force,  but  the  moral  power  being  destroyed, 
the  result  is  precarious.  Too  many  impor- 
tant and  conflicting  interests  are  attached  to 
the  capital  of  a  country.  It  is  the  central 
point  of  wealth,  commerce  and  trade ;  and-as 
a  violent  blow  need  only  crush  one  of  the 
nobler  organs  to  destroy  the  whole  body, 
the  invasion  of  an  enemy  and  the  capture  of 
a  capital,  exercise  a  fatal  influence  on  every 
resource  of  a  country." 

"  Thus  Napoleon's  conquest  over  the  civi- 
lised world  ia  then  decided!"  said  Mary, 
bitterly. 

"  Of  the  European  eemtinent  at  least. 
The  result  of  this  battle  may  be  hailed  as 
a  victory  by  all  Europe.  Against  whom,  it 
may  be  asked,  is  the  war  carried  on  ?  In 
ray  opinion,  not  against  Russia,  but  against 
Engkind.  fiy  th^  defeat  of  the  Russian 
army,  the  Emperor  is  now  at  last  master  of 
the  European  coasts — for  of  SpaMn  and  Por- 
tugal he  will  soon  be  in  possession.  Then  ho 
can  dictate  his  own  conditions  to  England. 
The  power  of  England  is  great  in  itself,  and 
still  greater  by  its  alliances  on  the  continent, 
and  therefore,  the  continental  powers-  must 
first,  as  they  now  really  are,  be  conquered, 
ere  that  little  island  could  be  humiliated. 
This  aim  seems  now  within  the  Emperor's 
grasp.  Look,  therefore,  for  a  general  peace, 
so  necessary  to  the  belligerent  nations — abo\-« 
all,  to  conquering  France.  Many  evils  will 
cease,  which,  by  the  force  of  circun>stances, 
the  Emperor  has  been  compelled  to  inflict  on 
the  European  people.  Austria  will  be  the 
representative  of  Germany.  Napoleon  will 
with  pleasure  see  that  country  in  a  condition 
peaceful  towards  himself,  and  in  every  way 
possible  he  will  aid  in  promoting  its  pros- 
perity. Many  old  and  evil  habit^  in  Ger- 
many had  to  be  rooted  out  before  a  new  edi- 
fice found  safe  ground  and  a  free  space. 
The  Emperor  of  France,  as  the  representative 
of  a  powerful  and  newly  awakened  era,  has 
abolished  the  old  forms.  Those  existing  at 
present  are  merely  transient.  He  knows 
himself,  that  there  exists  nothing  solid — for  he 
daily  demolishes  what  he  had  built  for  the 
necessity  of  the  moment,  and  allows  nations 
and  leaders  alike  suddenly  to  change  and 
alter  their  duties.  When  once,  however,  he 
shall  have  reached  the  aim  of  his  vast  de- 
signs— when  once  the  continent  shall  be  as 
firmly  united  in  its  inner  parts  as  the  vast 
provinces  of  which  it  consists  are  externally 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


163 


drcamscribed — ^then  the  great  man  will  lay 
a  solid,  lasting  foundatioa  on  which  to  erect 
a  splendid  edifice  for  the  future.  For  that 
purpose  this  last  battle  was  necessary.  No 
one  feels  more  deeply  than  myself  the 
hard  sacrifices  that  Germany  has  had  to 
make ;  but  now  they  will  be  put  an  end  to 
— they  were  a  punishment  for  old  and  heavy 
oSences ;  iiistory  shows  no  nation  exempt 
from  a  similar  atonement  for  old  public  sins." 

Arnheim  uttered  these  thoughts  with  much 
animation ;  he  spoke  for  all  parties,  and  there- 
fore even  those  of  a  different  opinion  listened 
to  him  with  pleasure.  His  words  had  com- 
forted Mary  in  the  very  depths  of  her  heart, 
and  her  looks  brightened  into  a  gentle  smile 
as  she  tendered  him  her  sincere  thanks. 

The  Countess  rose  in  great  emotion. 

"  When  even  you,"  she  said,  "  entertain  so 
many  hopes  as  a  consequence  of  this  great 
campaign,  how  must  our  hearts  beat  who 
have  fought  in  this  battle  for  the  liberty  of 
our  fatherland  ?  Would  that  the  day  were 
come — the  long-expected  day,  when  Poland, 
at  present  bowed  down  into  the  dust,  could 
again  proudly  raise  her  noble  head.  Would 
■  that  the  White  Eagle  could  spread  its  lone 
pinions,  and  be  capable  of  once  more  hazard- 
ing the  daring  dight  to  the  sun  of  liberty ! 
Oh,  may  this  victory  be  thrice-blessed  !  The 
blood  of  the  fallen  will  not  then  have  been 
spilled  in  vain  I" 

Suddenly,  the  ringing  of  the  bells  of  the 
cathedral  sounded  through  the  trees,  which 
.  rustled  in  the  fresh  wind. 

"  At  this  unusual  time  ? — What  may  that 
signify  ?"  asked  the  Countess. 

The  ringing  of  the  bells  increased — from 
near  and  distant  steeples  the  merry  chimes 
interrupted  the  quietude  of  the  forenoon. 

"  The  celebration  of  the  victory !"  observed 
the  Captain. 

"  And  a  victory  it  is,  for  which  we  must 
thank  heaven  !"  added  the  Countess.  "  How 
proud  I  feel  at  these  sounds.  From  the  dark 
thunder-cloud  of  battle  a  new  morning  is 
perhaps  dawning  for  our  country.  Now  can 
I  expj^n  the  restlessness  of  my  heart;  I 
must  join  the  congregation  of  the  praying, 
grateful  people,  and  uplift  my  ardent  soul  to- 
wards heaven  in  prayer !" 

She  called  for  a  shawl  and  flung  it  over 
her  shoulders.  Arnheim  offered  her  his  arm. 
Mary  and  Lodoiska  followed. 

In  the  streets  all  was  motion  and  life.  The 
people  thronged  across  the  squares  towards 
the  churches  where  the  bells  were  ringing,  as 
on  the  holiday  of  a  saint.  Beneath  the  hotel 
of  the  minister  waved  the  tri-colored  banner. 
The  troops  present  in  the  city  assembled  to 
je  marched  to  church  in  parade.  As  if  by 
a  mawic  power  the  working-day  was  changed 
into  a  great  festival.    The  people  were  at- 


tired in  their  festive  garments ;  men,  wome'i, 
children — all  rushed  in  variegated  group;* 
to  the  sacred  edifices. 

How  brightly  sparkled  the  lively  dark 
eyes  of  the  maidens  and  youths!  From  be- 
neath the  veils  of  the  former  their  raven 
black  hair  fell  beautifully  down  and  covered 
their  white  necks;  the  latter  had  proudly 
pressed  upon  their  forehead  the  high  cap 
trimmed  with  gold,  from  which  rich  tassels 
escaped,  and  girded  themselves  with  man's 
truest  ornament — the  sword. 

Mary  felt  almost  alarmed  when  she  beheld 
this  general  enthusiasm.  .\las  ! — in  her 
own*  country  she  had  never  witnessed  any- 
thing similar.  And  would  they  there  rejoice 
over  this  victory?  Were  not  their  hearts 
with  the  enemy,  though  forced  by  their  desti- 
ny to  combat  against  him  ?  And  would  this 
battle  have  really  such  happy  consequences 
as  their  hopes  led  them  to  believe  ? 

Engaged  in  such  reflections  the  party  ap- 
proached the  church,  the  wide  gates  of  which 
were  open.  The  solemn  tones  of  the  organ 
saluted  the  ear  of  the  advancing  worshippers, 
while  the  louder  and  loftier  peals  of  bells 
summoned  them  from  afar.  The  holy  flame 
burned  in  the  chandeliers  at  the  high  altar, 
and  before  all  the  images  of  the  saints.  Al- 
ready were  the  spacious  halls  crowded  almost 
to  overflowing,  and  yet  renewed  crowds  press- 
ed in.  It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the 
Countess  reached  her  private  oratory,  from 
within  the  grates  of  which  she  could  cast  a 
glance  over  the  whole.  Opposite,  in  the  choir, 
were  the  seats  of  the  French  embassy — to  the 
left  the  high  altar — to  the  right  the  pulpit. 
The  lattice  of  the  pew  was  a  great  conve- 
nience to  Mary,  who,  aa  she  attended  divine 
service  without  joihing  in  its  ceremonies, 
necessarily  appeared  only  as  a  spectatress, 
although  her  heart  throbbed  so  gratefully  for 
the  preservation  of  her  nearest  friends,  that 
her  prayers  for  a  happy  turn  in  the  destiny 
of  her  country  fervently  passed  her  lips. 

While  the  Countess  and  Lodoiska  kneeled 
with  rosaries  in  their  hands,  Mary  remained 
on  her  retired  seat.  Arnheim  had  not  en- 
tered the  pewof  theCountess^-custom  sepa- 
rating men  and  women  in  the  church. 

Lodoiska  prayed  with  the  fervor  of  an 
enthusiast,  her  eyes  constantly  resting  upon 
the  image  of  the  virgin  suspended  opposite 
her.  She  moved  her  lips,  but  no  sound  was 
audible.  In  her  eyes  shone  the  purest  thank- 
fulness— the  holy  melancholy  of  gratitude. 
The  Countess  was  serious;  even  when 
kneeling,  she  maintained  the  majesty  of  her 
carriage,  and  sublimity  was  displayed  on  her 
open  forehead.  Occasionally  she  raised  her 
large  dark  eye  in  holy  earnest  appeal  to  the 
Power  above. 
Mass  having  been  brought  to  a  close,  tlta 


184 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


ladtes  left  the  church.  Close  by  the  gate  the 
crowds  crossed  each  other  in  such  a  way  as 
to  cause  a  temporary  check  to  their  progress. 
From  both  sides  those  who  had  been  sitting 
in  the  choir  came  down  the  stairs;  from 
three  sides  those  from  the  nave  of  the  church 
pressed  on.  Arnheim  had  not  been  able  to 
rejoin  the  ladies ;  they  were  alone,  keeping 
close  together. 

Now,  the  French  minister  with  his  splen- 
did retinue  also  descended  the  stairs.  The 
stream  of  people  brought  them  into  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  ladles.  By  de- 
grees Mary  observed  herself  entirely  sur- 
rounded by  uniforms,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
lower  her  head  to  avoid  the  often  equivocal 
looks  of  these  men ;  then  she  heard  a  few 
French  words  spoken  in  a  voice  known  to 
her.  She  turned  her  eye  in  the  direction, 
but,  as  though  she  had  trodden  on  a  serpent, 
she  shrank  back  and  grew  pale.  She  saw 
before  her  the  feared,  detested  Beaucaire, 
and  at  a  distance  of  two  paces  from  him  St. 
Luces  also.  ' 

Mary  had  to  summon  all  her  composure  not 
to  betray  herself  by  a  scream ;  her  knees 
trembled  and  she  could  hardly  make  a  step 
forward.  Surely  she  would  have  sunk  to 
thp  ground,  had  not  the  throng  forcibly  kept 
}«er  upright.  Her  feelings  resembled  those 
of  a  wanderer,  who  suddenly  discovers  tliat 
having  sat  down  to  rest  close  to  a  sleeping 
viper,  fleeing  or  remaining  will  bring  destruc- 
tion upon  him. 

The  position  of  Beaucaire  and  St.  Luces  at 
this  moment  made  it  impossible  for  them  to 
.see  Mary  ;  yet  she  could  not  know  whether 
bhe  had  not  long  ago  been  observed  by  both. 
Oh,  what  would  she  have  given  if,  like  Lo- 
doiska  and  the  Countess,  she  had  worn  a  veil 
to  conceal  her  face  !  She  bent  her  head 
down  and  covered  it  with  her  handkerchief, 
thus  endeavoring  to  hide  it  as  much  as  pos- 
sible—but the  pressure  of  the  crowd  gradually 
forced  her  towards  the  danger,  and  she  felt 
that  the  moment  was  not  distant  when  she 
should  touch  the  person  of  her  unprincipled 
persecutor.  She  would  have  given  a  hint  to 
the  Countess,  but  every  word  was  perilous, 
and  might  have  betrayed  her.  Submitting  to 
her  fate  she  awaited  silently,  but  in  agony, 
what  should  come— when  suddenly  the  multi- 
tude turned  sideways,  another  gate  having 
been  opened.  The  Countess  followed,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  they  reached  a  free  passage, 
and  hastened  home,  Mary  communicating 
her  imminent  danger  by  the  way. 

The  next  morning  they  learned  that  Cap- 
tain Von  Arnheim,  with  two  French  officers 
of  the  Commissariat  Department,  answering 
to  appearance  of  St.  Luces  and  Beaucaire — 
had  the  preceding  day  been  suddenly  dis- 
patched on  to  Wihia. 


CHAPTER  LVIIL    .        ,    , 

The  following  days  passed  quiet  as  usu41. 
The  great  battle  was  everywhere  the  con- 
stant topic  of  conversation.  By-and-by  fresh 
particulars  were  received.  The  storming  of 
the  large  redoubt  was  but  briefly  dwelt  on ; 
none,  however,  had  omitted  to  write  some- 
thing about  the  great  losses,  the  obstinacy  of 
the  battle,  the  terrible  fire  of  the  artillery, 
and  the  superhuman  exertions  and  hardships 
of  the  army. 

On  the  fifth  day  a  second  letter  arrived 
from  Rasinski,  in  which  lay  small  notes 
scribbled  with  pencil,  from  Louis  and  Jaro- 
mir.    Rasinski  wrote  :—  | 

"  Dear  Sister — For  four  days  we  have 
been  in  ceaseless  pursuit  of  the  enemy,  and 
have  daily  skirmishes.  We  push  our  way, 
however,  only  slowly,  as  the  Russians  retire 
in  good  order.  It  would  not  have  been  so  if 
our  exhaustion  had  not  made  it  impossible  to 
pursue  them  faster.  The  care  of  our  wounded, 
and  of  providing  for  our  pressing  wants, 
claims  almost  every  moment  of  our  time. 
Thus  I  can  only  write  these  few  lines  at 
present.  We  have  lost  many  dear  friends. 
Two-thirds  of  my  regiment  fell  on  the  hills 
of  Semenowski,  and  among  them,  my  old 
faithful  Petrowski,  whose  dead  body  I  could 
not  even  search  for  and  bury.  For  centuries 
past  no  such  battle  has  been  fought.  Our 
exertions  cannot  be  described  ;j)ut  still,  by 
the  blessing  of  heaven,  we  are  in  good  spi- 
rits and  bodily  vigor.  Over  the  bloody  battle- 
field of  Borodino  the  sun  of  Poland's  liberty 
will  rise  !  Therefore,  Johanna,  mourn  not 
those  who  are  dead.  Their  country  will 
erect  monuments  to  them,  that  their  glory 
may  shine  for  ever.  Farewell,  Johanna  ! — 
The  morning  dawns  at  last.     Be  happy  ! 

"  Tht  Brother.'' 

Louis'  note  was  as  follows :— >         | 

"  Mart — I  require  days  to  express  the 
feelings  of  my  heart,  and  I  can  hardly  spare 
minutes.  On  the  evening  before  the  battle  I 
was  informed  of  the  death  of  our  viother. 
Oh  !  how  thy  letter  comforted  me  !  In  the 
midst  of  the  conflict  my  heart  was  with  thee 
alone,  poor  sister,  and  the  threatening  dan- 
gers almost  lost  their  power  over  me.  Ber- 
nard is  the  most  faithful  friend  in  the  world  ; 
he  supposed  me  fallen,  and  made  search  for 
me  among  the  dead.  Yet  we  met  again 
alive.  Farewell !  Despair  not !  The  day 
of  reunion  and  happiness  will  dawn  for  us 
also.  That  the  terrible  battle  spared  me. 
may  be  to  thee  a  confirmation  of  that !" 

Jaromir  only  wrote  : —  | 

«  LosoisKA— Dearest  of  my  life !  tremble 


L 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


185 


no  i(pore ;  all  dangers  are  past.  The  battle 
was  fierce.  Even  I  have  to  mourn  many 
brothers  and  comrades — myself  protected  by 
thy  prayers !  Thee  I  thank  for  all — happi- 
ness and  life  !  Oh,  could  I  only  first  sink 
down  to  rest  upon  thy  heart !  Boleslaus, 
Lools,  and  Bernard  are  safe.  Farewell, 
dearest !  and  think  of  thine  ever  faithful 

"  Jaromir," 

This  first  information,  under  the  hands  of 
their  relatives,  made  the  ladies  happy  beyond 
description.  Every  particle  of  doubt  was 
dispersed ;  they  gave  themselves  up  entirely 
to  their  blissful  feeling. 

Thus  a  week  passed. 

Then  the  information  was  received  that 
the  grand  army  had  entered  Moscow.  From 
the  palace  of  the  Czars  the  bulletin  was 
signed  by  which  the  Emperor  made  known 
this  event  to  astonished  Europe.  The  great 
aim — the  anxiously-desired  peace — was  at- 
tained ;  for,  with  whom  should  war  be  made, 
when  there  were  no  longer  enemies  to  sub- 
due ?  Now,  hopes  were  revived  in  all  hearts ; 
now,  at  last,  one  fancied  the  day  of  rest — the 
remuneration  for  such  immense  sacrifices — to 
have  arrived.  The  Pole  felt  himself  once 
more  free.  He  hoped  again  to  have  a  father- 
land— a  king  sprung  from  the  bosom  of  the 
people — a  history !  In  those  feelings  the 
country  was  happy  and  proud. 

In  her  warm  breast  Mary  nursed  the  buds 
which  Arnheim's  views  had  planted  there. 

Five  days  more,  and  the  rumor  was  circu- 
lated first  by  the  Jews  who  came  from  Brzese 
litewski  that  Moscow  had  been  set  on 
fire  by  the  Russians.  As  usual,  some  exag- 
gerated, while  others  pretended  to  know  with 
certainty  that  the  whole  mighty  affair  was 
but  the  destruction  of  a  few  buildings  which 
had  accidentally  taken  fire.  At  the  French 
minister's  hotel  the  strictest  silence  was 
maintained  ;  to  no  one  was  communicated  the 
contents  of  the  despatches  brought  by  the 
couriers ;  yet,  louder  and  ever  increasing,  the 
painful  rumors  were  spread  abroad,  and  soon 
no  one  daired  to  contradict  them.  Finally  the 
mischief  could  be  concealed  no  longer.  It  was 
publicly  admitted  in  the  official  notes  of  the 
French  minister  that,  in  their  furious  despair, 
the  Russians  had  devoted  their  capital  to  de- 
struction. Whatever  was  said,  was  said  with 
the  design  lo  mitigate  the  dread  occasioned 
by  the  information,  and  to  prevent  the  sup- 
position that  this  occurrence  could  be  hurtful 
to  the  French  army,  or  in  any  way  menace 
its  prospects.  The  deed  seemed,  at  all  events, 
too  monstrous — too  unexampled — if  its  conse- 
quences could  not  be  clearly  defined.  Only 
under  the  certainty  of  saving  Russia,  could 
Moscow  have  been  sacrificed  to  the  flames, 
as  one  would  cast  burning  torches  into  the 


houses  of  Paris  only  if  the  safety  of  France 
was  at  stake.  Such  was  the  firm  belief  of 
every  one.  A  mute,  cold  terror  prevailed — 
a  shudder  shook  the  hearts  of  the  most  dar- 
ing. The  times  had  accustomed  them  to  co- 
lossal events — to  deedsunheard  of;  this  last, 
however,  exceeded  by  far  the  limits  of  all 
imagination. 

Thus  the  deepest  consternation  and  deject 
tion  succeeded  the  short  intoxication  created 
by  the  victory. 

The  Countess  resembled  a  marble  statue, 
so  pale  had  she  grown  after  this  frightful  in- 
telligence had  reached  her.  She  trembled — 
not  for  the  fate  of  her  brother  or  her  friends 
— she  trembled  for  the  fate  of  her  country. 

In  the  burning  of  Moscow  she  fancied  she 
beheld  a  terrible  picture  of  the  future  destiny 
of  Warsaw,  and  in  her  overwhelming  grief 
she  prophetically  exclaimed — 

"  Who  knows  how  near  the  day  is  at  band 
when  the  flames  will  close  over  the  pinnacles 
of  the  city  of  my  fathers,  as  an  atonement 
for  the  terrible  burnt-oflering  with  which 
Russia  has  purchased  its  liberty  ?" 

Lodoiska  lost  all  her  presence  of  .mind. 
Mary  alone  maintained  in  her  deportment 
that  calmness  which  is  the  sweetest  fruit  of 
faith  and  knowledge.  She  alone  was  not 
precipitated  into  the  abyss  of  despair.  In  her 
self-possession  the  Countess  needed  no  conso- 
lation ;  shocked,  but  firm,  she  stood  without 
fear  by  the  opened  gates  of  despair.  Lodo- 
iska, however,  was  shaken  by  the  storm  like 
a  pliant  vine ;  she  needed  a  support,  and  the 
sweet  solace  offered  by  Mary,  whose  Jove  for 
her  taught  her  the  l>5st  method  of  keeping 
hope  alive,  was  at  hand  to  support  her.  Lo- 
doiska  in  secret  fear  shrunk  back  from  the 
resolute  bearing  of  the  Countess,  in  whose 
serious  look  and  features,  expressive  of  lofty 
sorrow,  she  fancied  she  read  a  concealed 
reproach.  .     ;v«.i  ■ 

Rapidly,  however,  did  the  state  of  affairs 
change.  In  these  times  every  frail  vessel  of 
life  was  reeled  on  a  stormy  ocean ;  now,  firom 
the  top  of  the  waves  one  beheld  the  haven — 
safety  and  victory  ;  now  the  waves  towered 
high,  hardly  permitting  a  glimpse  of  heaven 
to  be  caught.  Later  news  from  Moscow 
brought  the  information  that  the  army  was 
not  dangerously  situated  ;  that,  in  spite  of  the 
dreadful  conflagration,  there  were  buildings 
enough  left  for  winter-quarters;  and  that, 
although  tbe  war  still  continued,  preliminary 
negotiations  for  peace  were  already  entered 
into. 

The  consternation  created  by  the  earlier 
reports  of  the  evil  vanished,  and  fresh  hopes 
arose.  The  ladies  only  awaited  news  from 
their  friends  to  enjoy  the  general  happineM 
prevailing. 


186 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


One  evening  they  received  two  letters ; 
one  of  them,  written  by  Jaromir,  was  directed 
to  Lodoisiia,  the  other  from  Rasinski  to  his 
sister.  This  was  looked  on  as  strange,  as 
all  notes  generally  were  enclosed  in  Rasin- 
ski's  letters.  Lodoiska  was  at  vespers  ;  thus 
the  Countess  broke  the  seal  of  Rasinski's  let- 
ter  only  ;  it  was  dated  the  16th  of  September, 
the  day  after  the  breaking  out  of  the  fire.  He 
wrote  :— 

V 

"  Dearest  Sister — As  for  us,  we  have 
escaped  a  great  evil  in  the  most  wonderful 
manner.  The  half  of  Moscow  is  enveloped 
in  flames.  Ah  unexampled  confusion  pre- 
vails. Having  been  obliged  to  leave  the  city, 
we  are  now  encamped  in  the  fields.  I  avail 
myself  of  the  present  moment — the  first  I 
can  spare,  to  inform  you  that  we  are  all 
alive  and  unhurt.  I  know  not  when  this 
letter  can  be  forwarded.  Colonel  Regnard,  to 
whom  I  spoke  but  just  now,  will  deliver  it  to 
the  field  mail. 

"  Thy  Brother." 

In  the  letter  was  a  separate  piece  of  paper, 
with  the  superscription  : — "  For  thee  alone !" 
Its  contents  ran  : — 

"  We  missed  Jaromir  !  Keep  it  a  secret 
from  Lodoiska.  That  he  has  perished  I  can 
hardly  imagine.  I  dispatched  him  with  a 
message  to  Marshal  Mortier ;  he  has  not  re- 
turned, but  in  this  extensive  city,  and  with 
the  great  confusion  now  prevailing,  nothing 
is  easier  than  to  go  astray.  To-morrow  we 
shall  meet  again,  I  hope.  To  thee  alone  I 
communicate  this,  as  I  have  solemnly  prom- 
ised never  to  conceal  anything  from  thee. 
Therefore,  believe  me  also,  when  I  say  that 
I  feel  no  apprehensions  about  the  safety  of 
Jaromir." 

The  Countess  having  perused  these  lines, 
thought  it  quite  natural  that  the  letter  from 
Jaromir,  arriving  at  the  same  time  with  the 
one  for  her  brother,  would  give  some  expla- 
nation of  his  non-appearance.  Not  without 
probability  she  judged  it  to  have  been  written 
later  for  the  purpose  of  entirely  tranquilising 
Lodoiska.  She  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of 
the  girl's  agreeable  surprise  on  her  return 
from  vespers. 

!(,.  In  a  short  half-hour  Lodoiska  made  her 
^pearance.  The  Countess  went  to  meet 
her,  holding  the  letter  jestingly  over  her  head, 
and  saying : 

"  What  will  you  give  me  for  this  letter, 
Lodoiska  7" 

"  From  Jaromir !"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  joy.  A  warm  kiss  was  the 
reward  the  over-happy  girl  paid  for  the  trea- 
sure. Her  cheeks  colored  with  joyful  anti- 
cipation— she  unfolded  the  letter  and  held  it 
up  to  the  light ;  the  next  moment  she  started 


aside  and  grew  pale  as  death — her  hand 
sunk  powerless,  and  the  letter  fell  to*  the 
ground.  Before  the  Countess  or  Mary  could 
render  her  assistance,  she  fell  senseless  to 
the  floor. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  what  is  it  ?"  cried  the 
Countess,  endeavoring,  aided  by  Mary,  to 
raise  the  prostrate  girl.  They  succeeded  in 
placing  her  upon  the  sofa.  The  Countess 
rang  the  bell,  and  Mary,  taking  the  letter 
up  from  the  floor,  saw  at  a  glance  that  it 
contained  but  one  line.  She  dared  not  read 
it,  but  the  Countess  took  it  without  hesitation, 
and  read  the  following  words  : 

"  Hypocrite !  Traitress !  We  are  separated 
forever.  "  Jaromir." 

Both  ladies  stood  speechless  and  paralyzed. 

"  A  blow  sufficient,  indeed,  to  crusb.the 
poor  girl !"  said  the  Countess  at  length,  in  a 
tone  of  the  deepest  indignation.  "  It  is  mean 
as  it  is  detestable — an  insult  without  ex- 
ample !" 

In  violent  agitation  she  walked  the  apart- 
ment to  and  fro ;  to  satisfy  herself,  Mary 
read  the  unfortunate  paper  over  again,  and  as 
if  chilled  by  its  import,  put  it  away  from  her. 

"  Unhappy  girl !"  she  said,  bending  over 
Lodoiska  ;  "  how  shall  we  be  able  to  soften 
thy  grief !" 

Lodoiska's  servant  entered;  she  was 
frightened  at  the  sight  of  her  mistress. 

"  Lodoiska  is  suddenly  taken  ill,"  said  the 
Countess ;  "  tell  Casimir  to  run  for  a  physi- 
cian. Who  could  have  thought  that  suspicion 
could  rest  upon  this  pure  soul !  This  heart, 
which  was  consumed  by  the  fire  of  its  love, 
is  accused  of  faithlessness !  Abominable ! 
detestable  !  and  what  proofs  can  that  frivolous 
wretch,  who,  with  rough  heels,  tramples  to 
the  ground  the  flowers  of  his  own  priceless 
happiness — what  proofs  has  he  for  this  scan- 
dalous impeachment  ? — An  idle  word — a  ca- 
lumniating breath — or  a  mischievous  story 
from  some  malicious  knave  among  hib  com- 
rades !" 

The  servant  entered  again,  and  Lodoiska 
was  deposited  on  her  couch  in  her  own  room. 
Mary  sat  down  by  her  side,  awaiting  return- 
ing' consciousness.  .In  solemn,  deep  grief 
the  Countess  stood  silent  at  the  fool  of  her 
bed,  with  her  eyes  constantly  fixed  upon  the 
inanimate  girl. 

At  last  Lodoiska  opened  her  eyes,  and 

gainfully  looking  up,  she  gave  her  protectress 
er  hand  as  she  murmured  from  the  very 
depth  of  her  soul,  "Oh,  how  miserable  I 
am! 


:>'.• 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


187 


.■t--\-i- 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


It  was  night.  The  rising  storm  swept 
over  the  plain  and  whistled  sadly  through  the 
dark  pine  woods  as  Rasinslii  reached  his 
place  of  bivouac.  He  was  attended  by  a 
diminished  body  of  faithful  soldiers,  which  he 
dared  no  longer  call  a  regiment.  They  were 
weiry  and  hungry,  their  limbs  benumbed 
with  cold  and  rain. 

"  We  will  encamp  here,"  said  Rasinski, — 
*'  at  the  foot  of  these  hills.  We  have  at  least 
protection  against  the  storm." 

Rasinski  had  chosen  for  his  place  of  en- 
campment a  projecting  point  of  an  old  pine 
forest.  Tall  trees  grew  on  the  precipitous 
but  not  lofty  hills,  which  encompassed  an  al- 
most circular  valley.  The  limbs  of  these 
ancient  trees  interlaced  each  other.  The 
forest,  therefore,  was  dense  enough,  and  a 
dark  growth  of  brush-wood  ran  up  the  sides 
of  the  hills. 

The  place,  it  is  true,  afforded  some  shelter 
against  the  autumnal  wind ;  yet  it  was  gloomy 
and  cold,  since  even  in  summer,  the  sun 
scarcely  penetrated  the  thick  mass  of  vege- 
tation, and  still  less  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
autumn.  A  few  birches  only,  with  their 
white  trunks  and  pale-yellow  leaves,  stood 
like  ghosts  in  the  dark  back-ground. 

"  A  good  ambush,"  said  Bernard,  entering 
the  narrow  inlet. 

"Very  convenient  for  a  gang  of  robbers," 
replied  Rasinski. 

"  If  we  were  all  assembled,"  continued 
Bernard,  "our  resting-place  might  be  too 
small ;  still,  there  is  ample  room  for  a  hun- 
dred." 

Rasinski  directed  his  men  to  dismount  and 
make  every  preparation  for  piclteting  and 
feeding  their  horses  under  as  good  shelter  as 
could  be  obtained.  A  party  was  detailed  for 
foraging — another  for  cutting  wood,  and  an- 
other for  carrying  water.  The  remainder 
were  ordered  to  undertake  the  stable  duty. 

Having  thiis  given  his  orders,  Rasinski 
seated  himself,  low-spirited  and  weary,  on 
the  trunk  of  a  falten  tree  thickly  covered 
with  moss.  His  hands  rested  upon  the  hilt 
of  his  sword,  and  his  countenance  bespoke 
gloomy  thoughts.  « 

"  Where  shall  I  let  them  make  our  fire. 
Colonel  ?"  enquired  Bernard. 

"  Wherever  you  please  !  Beneath  the  large 
pine  yonder  !"  replied  his  chief. 

Rasinski  remained  sitting  motionless  and 
lost  in  deep  thought,  while  Bernard  with  a 
couple  of  men  made  preparations  for  a  place 
where  their  commander  might  sleep.  Heavy, 
mournful  forebodings  agitated  the  mind  of 
the  brave  soldier.  He  looked  as  frowningly 
as  the  night  and  forest  around  him.  Soon, 
however,  his  very  disquietude  aroused  him. 


Walking  to  and  fro,  he  now  and  then  gave  a 
short  but  precise  order,  for,  although  restless^ 
uess  prevailed  in  his  heart,  his  attentive  eye 
observed  everything. 

"  Do  you  not  feel  inclined  to  lie  down  by 
the  fire,  sir  ?"  said  Bernard,  once  more  ap- 
proaching him.  "  Look,  it  is  already  crack- 
ling, and  lights  up  these  old  trees  with  their 
gigantic  arms." 

"  I  wonder  whether  Boleslaus  and  Louis 
will  be  back  to-night  ?  I  am  anxiouslv  wait- 
ing for  news  from  Jaromir !"  said  Rasinski, 
as  if  he  had  not  heard  Bernard's  words. 

"Endeavor  to  forget  that,  sir,"  said  Ber- 
nard, entreatingly.  "  It  is  a  feverish  dream 
— nothing  else.  Such  an  infernal  night  as 
that  which  Jaromir  first  passed  in  Moscow 
was  enough  to  call  up  the  wildest  fancies  of 
an  excited  imagination  ;  and  then  his  lying 
in  the  hospital,  without  friends,  and  amidst 
the  lamentations  of  the  maimed  and  dying! 
Mind  my  words :  as  soon  as  he  is  restored 
to  health  and  his  senses  invigorated,  his  me- 
lancholy dream  will  utterly  vanish !" 

"  I  have  not  forwarded  the  letter,"  observ- 
ed Rasinski  after  a  pause.  "  I  would  not  do 
it." 

"  And  you  acted  right.  Yoo  acted  in  ac- 
cordance with  your  true  faith  and  sound  dis- 
cretion— for  what  reason  could  then  be  as- 
signed for  the  erroneous  opinion  ?" 

"For  the  fact  itself,"  replied  Rasinski, 
"  the  proof  was  certainly  wanting ;  yet,  to 
arouse  apprehensions  in  my  heart,  half  of 
the  evidence  would  have  been  sufiicient.  In- 
deed, I  believe  that  Jarornir  has  secretly  of- 
fended Lodoiska,  and  that  it  is  not  a  feverish 
dream  only  that  reminds  him  of  it.  But  now 
I  remember  what  he  said  to  Louis  the  even- 
ing previous  to  the  conflagration.  He  was 
not  sick ;  no  wound  tormented  him ;  no  great 
exertions  had  exhausted  his  physical  strength ; 
the  scenes  of  that  terrible  night  had  not  as 
yet  made  any  dreadful  impression  upon  his 
mind,  and  still——" 

"  As  fat"  as  I  can  interpret  what  Louis  told 
me  on  the  subject,"  interrupted  Bernard, 
"even  then  Jaromir  doubted  Lodoiska's  af- 
fection for  him.  This,  however,  might  have 
been  mere  suspicion,  created  at  the  moment, 
in  his  young  and  ardent  breast.  The  next 
minute  he  felt  ashamed  of  his  words,  and  ex- 
cused himself.  Such  was  his  state  of  mind 
on  the  night  the  fire  commenced,  and  having 
probably  mingled  the  terrors  of  the  scene 
with  his  own  agitated  thoughts,  he  formed 
from  the  whole  a  fearful  combination  of  evil. 
It  was  then  that  he  wrote  the  letter  to  her, 
which  makes  you  so  uneasy.  When  Louis 
and  Boleslaus  return,  we  shall,  I  trust,  be 
more  particularly  informed;  Jaromir,  no 
doubt,  has  told  them  all." 

"  I  feel  cold.    Let  us  lie  down  by  the  fire, 


*'m>'  '■■ 


188 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


I  am  very  weary.  A  terrible  war  is  this ! — 
The  whole  day  on  horseback,  looking  at  the 
enemy,  and  no  engagement ! — a  great  enemy, 
indeed,  if  a  Cossack  waits  for  a  pistol-shot. 
Ah  !  were  oar  horses  only  as  serviceable  as 
they  were  when  we  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Vistula,  this  trifling  would  soon  be  put  an 
end  to  !  It  is  said  that  the  negotiations  for 
peace  have  proved  abortive.  Kutusow,  I  be- 
lieve, knew  that  long  ago.  They  are  not  de- 
ferred without  good  reason.  The  winter 
must  annihilate  us  here.  I  am  with  the 
greatest  anxiety  looking  for  Boleslaus'  re- 
turn from  Moscow.  I  hope  he  has  succeeded 
in  procuring  a  part,  at  least,  of  what  we  are 
80  seriously  in  need." 

"  If  Louis  brought  me  a  pair  of  fresh  horses 
only,"  jested  Bernard,  "  he  certainly  would 
make  my  legs  a  trifle  more  comfortable,  and 
I  am  in  no  small  want  of  a  new  furred  coat 
tu  replace  this  worn  and  half-burnt  cloak." 

"  Spare  your  jesting,  Bernard,"  said  Ra- 
sinski,  earnestly ;  "  you  have  not  yet  experi- 
enced how  sharp  the  tooth  of  misery  can 
bite.  I  have  too  often  seen  how  those  better 
equipped  and  provided  for  than  we,  have 
been  obliged  to  defend  themselves  against  its 
keen  edge.  Already,  although  we  have  suf- 
ficiency of  fuel,  the  night-frost  throws  too 
many  of  our  men  on  the  sick  list.  How  will 
it  be  when  the  winter  sets  in,  when——" 

"  Well,  I  think  we  should  repair  to  Mos- 
cow ;  fifteen  versts  we  are  able  to  march,  I 
suppose  7" 
"Do  you?" 

A  sentry  challenged  at  this  moment,  and 
the  reply  was  heard  indicating  an  arrival 
from  Moscow. 

"  That  is  Boleslaus  !"  exckimed  Rasin- 
ski,  hastily  rising. 

In  a  moment  Boleslaus  jumped  from  his 
horse  and  saluted  his  friends. 

"  Where  is  Louis  ?  What  news  do'  you 
bring  from  Jaromir?"  asked  Bernard  and 
Rasinski,  together. 

"  The  service,  in  the  first  place,"  replied 
Boleslaus.  "  I  have  been  successful.  Great 
as  was  the  want  and  the  number  of  applicants, 
I  have  yet  been  able  to  procure  some  neces- 
saries. Your  liberality,  Colonel,  enabled  me 
to  pay  the  highest  prices !" 

"  Speak  not  of  that,"  interrupted  the  latter. 
"  I  made  a  bargain  with  the  Jews.  They 
brought  me  eighty  pair  of  boot-soles,  and 
thirty  pair  of  new  boots ;  I  could  find  only 
sixty  cloaks  ;  most  of  them  are  old,  though 
still  fit  for  use,  and  part  of  them  thickly  lined. 
I  also  bought  three  sheep-skin  coats,  which 
for  years  perhaps  have  covered  the  bodies  of 
Russian  peasants,  and  yet  are  not  to  be  de- 
spised. The  winter  will  come,  and  we  Poles 
are  at  least  partly  acquainted  with  it.  It 
appears  as  if  the  French  would  not  believe 


that  the  pleasant  fall-weather  could  cease. 
I  told  them  they  would  bivouac  there  onljf 
three  nights." 
"  Where  are  the  things  you  bring  ?" 
"  Louis  is  convoying  the  transport  with 
some  men.  They  are  coming  oa  a  wufon. 
for  which  I  made  application.  I  rode  tMoaA 
of  them.  I  trust  they  may  find  as  safe  ic 
this  lurking-hole." 

"The  storm  drove  us  hither,"  observed 
Rasinski.  "  We  will  despatch  some  men  to 
meet  the  transport.  Bernard,  detail  a  few 
men  to  the  main  road  and  desire  them  to  halt 
there."    Bernard  hereupon  left. 

'<  Well,"  continued  lUsinski  to  Boleslaus, 
"  what  you  have  brought  for  us  we  were  in 
great  want  of.    Is  all  the  money  gone  ?" 

"  Not  all ;  I  could  not  make  so  free  with 

your  property.    I  have  yet  forty  ducats  left." 

"  On  such  an   occasion  you  should  not 

have  been  sparing.    I  wish  you  had  pur« 

chased  some  worsted  stockings." 

"  If  there  had  been  any,  I  would  have  spent 
the  last  penny  for  them.  Indeed,  the  other 
things  are  actually  not  so  necessary  yet. — 
Still,  you  must  have  somethyig  reserved  for 
yourself.  It  will  be  difficult  to  raise  money 
again !" 

"  The  money  invested  for  the  benefit  of  my 
comrades  yields  the  noblest  interest.  I  know 
they  will  not  forsake  me  in  need,  and  the 
cloak  I  purchase  for  the  soldier  to-day,  cov- 
ers me  to-morrow,  if  the  night  is  cold  and  the 
faithful  comrade  sees  that  his  commander  is 
in  want  of  it.  Think  you  that  a  weighty 
purse  would  keep  me  warm  ?" 

"  Your*  generosity  prompts  your  profusion, 
sir,"  replied  Boleslaus ;  "  yet  it  would  be 
opposed  to  my  honor  and  my  conscience  to 
take  such  advantage  of  your  kindness.  We 
should  also  bear  a  small  share  in  what  is 
done  for  the  men.  I  am  therefore  embolden- 
ed to  refund  to  you  what  we  consider  it  our 
duty  to  supply." 

Rasinski  was  about  to  remonstrate,  when 
he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Ber- 
nard, who  said  to  Boleslaus : 
"  Now  tell  us  somethiiig  about  Jaromir." 
"  By-and-bye ;    first,    matters   of   impor- 
tance ;  the  negotiations  for  peace  are  broken 

off."  0 

«  I  thought  so  !"  replied  Rasinski,  with  a 
sigh.  ' 

"  Kutusow  has  suddenly  attacked  the  King 
of  Naples  and  repulsed  him.  The  Emperor 
received  the  intelligence  at  the  Kremlin, 
while  reviewing  the  troops  under  the  com- 
mand of  Marshal  Ney.  He  instantly  exclaim- 


ed, "  Is  it  war  ?— well;  be  it  so  !"  Orders 
were  despatched  in  all  directions,  and  to-mor- 
row evening  the  army  will  move  on  Kalouga. 
We,  and  all  those  regiments  who  have  had 
their  stations  north-easterly,  march  for  Moi- 


^^'»'^:^- 


NAPOWION'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


cow  to-morrow,  to  join  the  Grand  Army. — 
Here  is  the  route." 

"  Thus  tfce  war  will  be  renewed,"  said  Ra- 
sinski. 

•*  I  presume  so.  We  are  now  to  force  our 
WKf  to  the  southerly  provinces,  where  we 
may  hope  to  obtain  a  firm  footing  before  the 
winter  sets  in — or  at  least  reacL  Kiew,  and 
be  quartered  there  during;  the  cold  season." 

"  It  was  time,  indeed !  God  be  praised 
that  this  decision  is  at  last  adopted.  If  the 
war  is  carried  in  that  direction,  I  shall  still 
entertain  hopes.  In  those  regions  the  winter 
commences  half  a  month  later  at  least,  and 
is  considerably  milder.  The  country  is  rich, 
and  can  support  us  better  by  far  than  the 
desert  we  have  traversed.  This  news  is,  in- 
deed, worth  something.  Now  about  Jaromir. 
Is  he  restored  to  health  ?" 

Boleslaus  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

•*  Yes — if  we  may  call  it  restoration.  His 
injuries  from  the  fire  are  healing — ^the  vio- 
lent fever  has  ceased — he  even  feels  himself 
strong  enough  to  march.  He  will  not  re- 
m^n  in  the  rear,  and  I  should  think  he  has 
recovered  sufficient  of  bodily  strength,  but — " 

«Well?" 

"  His  mind  is  depressed,  the  brightness  of 
his  eye  dimmed,  his  clear  brain  now  clouded. 
He  is  no  more  our  healthy,  cheerful  Jaromir. 
I  am  afraid  he "    Boleslaus  paused. 

After  a  few  moments,  however,  he  continu- 
ed :  "  The  Emperor  has  sent  him  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  He  refuged  it,  with 
the  words,  'Accident  only  directed  me;  1 
must  not  accept  of  this  mark  of  distinction. 
May  the  Emperor  honor  me  with  it  when  I 
have  deserved  it !'  No  remonstrances  had 
any  influence  upon  him;  he  remained  firm. 
f  You  remember  well  how  ardently  for  years 
he  desired  to  obtain  this  distinction  ?" 

"  I  do,  I  do  !"  replied  Rasinski,  "  there  is 
a  gloom  in  his  mind  that  cannot  be  lit  up  by 
all  the  flames  of  burning  Moscow.  Did  he 
say  anything  about  his  letter  to  you  ?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  He  must,  however,  have  virritten  it  full 
one  day  before  your  arrival." 

"  Wgat  were  the  contents  7"  inquired  Bo- 
leslaus. 

"He*  it." 

Rasinski  took  the  folded  letter  from  his 
pocket,  and  read  as  folbws :— . 

**  Rasinski — You  have  been  a  second  fa- 
ther to  me,— to-day  I  give  you  that  dear  name 
for  the  last  time  ;  from  this  moment  you  are 
my  commander  only — and  that  you  may  still 
be — since  I  have  not  yet  lost  the  honor  of  a 
soldier.  The  last  favor  of  your  former  friei^- 
ship  I  solicit  from  you.  Forward  the  en- 
closed letter  to  Lo^oiska.  Three  times  I  have 
written  to  her,  a  repentant,  praying  for  for- 
giveness. I  did  so  during  the  troubhra  dreams 


of  my  delirium ;  I  destroyed  the  letters,  how- 
ever, and  sent  none  of  them.  I  am  restored 
to  health — I  am  conscious  of  what  I  do,  and 
I  act  as  I  am  compelled  to  act. 

"  Jabotiik." 

"  What  has  he  written  to  Lodoiska  ?  Nay, 
conceal  it  not  from  me,"  said  Boleslaus,  in 
great  agitation. 

Rasinski  unfolded  another  letter  and  read : 

•'  Lodoiska — We  are  separated  forever — ^I 
only  am  guilty.  Throw  my  ring  into  the 
stream ;  thine  I  have  already  cast  away ! 
Answer  me  not ;  in  the  overflow  of  thy  forgiv- 
ing heart  thou  wouldst  perhaps  pardon  me ; 
but  I  must  not  be  forgiven.  Thus  may  the 
torture  of  thy  silence  punish  me — I  banish 
myself  from  thy  presence  forever. 

"  Jabohib  " 

Boleslaus  bent  his  sorrow-stricken  coaa- 
tenance  to  the  ground.  A  terrible  stcM-m  of 
conflicting  feelings  caused  his  heart  to  throb 
violently.  Jaromir  himself  break  the  tie 
which  united  him  to  Lodoiska  !  A  star  of 
hope  beamed  through  the  dark  clouds,  and 
threw  its  mild  rays  into  Boleslaus'  breast. 
Shalt  thou  drink  intoxicating  happiness  from 
that  goblet  which  poisons  thy  friend !  Whilst 
thy  lips,  trembling  with  delight,  touch  the 
edge  of  the  cup,  the  lips  of  thy  friend  will 
become  pale, closed  for  ever !  No,  Boleslaus, 
— if  the  dark  serpent  of  guilt  enfold  his  heart 
— if  visions  of  sombre  and  melancholy  im- 
port overshadow  his  mind  and  depress  his 
energies — ^yet,  nevertheless,  shalt  thou  take 
no  advantage  of  the  infirmity  of  thy  friend  ! 
Be  a  man!  Turn  away  thine  eyes  from 
that  heavenly  portal  which  appears  to  open 
to  thee  !  It  is  an  unsubstantial  vision — thou 
shalt  not  enter  therein.  The  rose-colored 
brightness  in  which  thou  fanciest  to  cool 
thy  glowing  heart  is*but  the  reflection  of  con- 
cealed flames  from  the  abyss  below.  Jf  thou 
but  follow  the  allurement — if  thou  but  over- 
step the  sacred  limits — thou  shalt  precipitate 
thyself  into  a  yawning  abyss.  Thou  hast 
no  room  for  doubt  here ;  the  bride  thy  friend 
renounces  is  but  the  holier  object  to  thee. 
Every  thought  to  the  contrary,  every  hope  is 
treason  against  the  ties  of  true  brotherly  lovo. 

In  the  fiery  ordeal  of  these  stormy  feelings, 
Boleslaus'  noble  heart  steeled  itself  to  a  firm 
determination  of  honorable  resistance  to  all 
unworthy  temptations. 

"  Well,^'  said  Rasinski,  after  a  solemn 
pause,  "  what  say  you  to  this  letter  7  Is  it 
the  offspring  of  fever,  or  is  his  heart  bur- 
dened with  some  hidden  guilt  in  which  he  is 
involved  7" 

Boleslaus  was  prevented  from  answering 
by  a  loud  challenge  of  the  sentry,  the  reply 
to  which  announced  the  arrival  of  Louis. — 
The  friends  greeted  him  cordially.    Their 


'  •  iifiv^vrf-s 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


first  duty  was  to  make  dae  distribntion  of  the 
clothing  and  other  articles  Louis  had  brought, 
which  duty  occupied  more  than  an  hour; — 
Meanwhile  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and 
the  weary  soldiers  required  rest.  Bernard 
questioned  Louis  about  Jaromir,  but  he  knew 
no  mofe  than  others.  With  singular  tena- 
city of  purpose  the  youth  had  kept  his  secret 
within  his  own  breast ;  he  called  down  pun- 
ishment for  his  offence ;  he  would  accept  no 
compassion,  nor  yet  ask  forgiveness. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

On  the  evening  of  the  eighteenth  day  of 
October,  the  French  army  commenced  its 
retreat  from  the  capital  of  the  Czars,  in  which 
it  had  remained  either  much  too  long  or  too 
short  a  time.  Napoleon,  however,  had  not 
yet  admitfed  the  necessity  of  retreat,  since 
he  had  not  yet  been  taught  the  power  of  the 
elements  to  subvert  his  own ; —  he  still 
thought  of  attacking  Kutusow's  troops,  who 
made  a  stand  at  Kalouga.  To  attack,  was 
to  defeat  them,  and  open  for  himself  a  way  in- 
to the  southern  provinces.  His  design  was  to 
bring  forward  his  reserves  to  increase  and 
ensure  his  means  of  communicating  with 
Poland  ;  to  make  the  right  wing  of  the  army 
his  point  d'appui,  and  thus  maintain  himself 
in  the  heart  of  the  hostile  country  until  a 
more  favorable  season  should  arrive.  Many 
voices  had  already  been  raised  in  favor  of 
retreat ;  and  apprehensive  that  the  dread  of 
a  long  and  inactive  winter  would  dispirit  the 
troops,  they  were  urgent  in  their  desires  to 
carry  it  into  effect  without  delay.  But  there 
were  other  counsellors  and  opposite  counsels ; 
and  these,  more  rash  and  improvident,  from 
their  agreement  with  the  daring  spirit  of  the 
Emperor,  exercised  a  fatal  influence  on  his 
decision. 

On  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth,  the 
opening  of  a  pleasant  day,  Napoleon  himself 
left  Moscow.  Although  the  army  had  march- 
ed the  whole  night,  fresh  masses  were  con- 
stantly passing  the  gates  of  the  half-destroyed 
city.  In  lines  extending  far  beyond  the  point 
of  vision,  they  proceeded  forward  on  the 
wide  main-road.  It  was  not  merely  the 
number  of  soldiers  that  formed  the  immense 
train  ;  there  were  also  innumerable  vehicles 
laden  with  booty,  the  numerous  trains  of  ar- 
tillery and  baggage  wagons  which  they 
would  not  leave  behind.  On  both  sides  the 
columns  of  infantry  and  cavalry  moved  for- 
ward, marching  over  the  fields  alongside  the 
road,  so  as  to  leave  it  free  to  the  wagons. — 
Nevertheless,  the  enormous  amount  of  bag- 
^^age  obstructed  the  passage.  The  Emperor 
and  bis  suite  were  delayed  by  the  confusioa 


arising  from  the  entanglement  of  the  nume> 
rous  vehicles.  It  was  at  this  interesting 
point  that  Rasinski,  who  during  the  night 
had  bivouacked  before  the  gales  of  Moscow, 
arrived  with  his  few  horsemen  through  a 
by-lane  of  the  suburb,  to  join  the  army.  He 
was  obliged  to  halt,  and  perceived  the  Em- 
peror immediately  in  front  of  him.  In  the 
features  of  Napoleon  great  displeasure  was 
expressed  at  the  impediments  he  met  with. 
With  evident  dissatisfaction  he  looked  at  the 
vast  number  of  superfluous  wagons.  He 
also  cast  his  sharp  look  at  Rasinski,  who  sa- 
luted him  respectfully,  yet  he  said  nothing, 
and  appeared  only  to  count,  in  serious  mood, 
the  small  remnant  of  the  regiment.  At  last 
a  passage  was  opened,  and  with  his  retinue 
he  rode  through  it  at  speed. 

Rasinski,  however,  could  not  proceed,  but 
was  obliged  to  await  a  more  favorable  mo- 
ment. This  did  not  displease  him,  since  he 
desired  to  be  joined  by  Jaromir,  whom  Louis 
had  been  despatched  to-<  bring  from  the  hos- 
pital. The  marching  orders  had  come  so 
unexpectedly  that  there  had  been  no  time  to 
communicate  them  to  Jaromir.  Boleslaus, 
therefore,  had  taken  care  to  keep  his  baggage 
and  horses  in  readiness,  and  thus  Jaromir 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  mouht.  By  sending 
Louis  to  him,  Rasinski  had  presumed  that 
Jaromir,  by  his  friendly  persuasions,  might  ' 
be  induced,  at  least  for  a  friend,  to  remove 
the  mysterious  veil  beneath  which  he  con- 
cealed  what  had  occurred.  The  truly  pater- 
nal sympathy  which  Rasinski  entertained 
for  Lodoiska  and  Jaromir  \^a8  so  predomi- 
nant within  him,  that  even  the  present  sud- 
den turn  of  the  war  could  not  erase  it.  He 
soon  observed  his  friends  at  a  distance,  who 
approached  him  at  a  rapid  pace.  According 
to  the  usual  ceremonial  of  the  service,  Jaro- 
mir reported  himself  to  Rasinski  as  restored 
to  health  and  able  to  join  the  regiment.  He 
looked  pale,  and  appeared  with  difficulty  to 
keep  himself  in  the  saddle ;  his  voice  was 
suppressed,  and  the  fire  of  bis  eye  somewhat 
dimmed.    ' 

With  paternal  compassion,  and  not  with 
the  air  of  a  commander,  Rasinski  gave  him 
his  hand  and  said — 

"  Welcome  to  us  again,  Jaromir*,  sorry 
were  we  for  your  accident — welcome  once 
more." 

At  these  words  Jaromir  lost  the  firm  car- 
riage he  had  forced  himself  to  assume.  With 
a  serious  countenance  he  looked  at  his  friend, 
yet  he  had  no  power  over  the  tear  that  trem- 
bled in  his  eye.  In  great  agitation  he  seized 
th#  hand  offered  by  Rasinski,  but  dared  not 
return  its  hearty  pressure.  He  was  only 
able  to  murmur  in  a  desponding  tone : 

"  I  am  an  object  far  more  deserving  your 
reproof  than  your  kindness." 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Rasinski's  experienced  eye  looked  into  the 
very  depth  of  the  youth's  heart ;  it  was  now 
clear  to  him  that  some  conviction  of  guilt, 
and  no  vision  of  fancy,  darkened  the  mind  of 
-  his  unhappy  friend.  Rasinski  and  his  men 
at  length  proceeded  onward  in  silence  and 
reached  the  hills.  Merciful  heaven,  what  a 
sight !  Three  wide  and  long  streams  of  sol- 
diers and  baggage-wagons  wound  their  vvay 
over  the  fields;  the  ruins  of  Moscow  seemed 
inexhaustible,  and  yet  the  yan  of  the  masses 
was  lost  to  the  eye  at  the  edge  of  the  hori- 
zon. The  open  field  was  covered  to  the  right 
and  left  with  stragglers,  both  horse  and  foot. 
Rasinski  halted  under  a  hill,  from  whence, 
by  their  white  plumes,  he  recognised  the 
Emperor  and  his  suite  far  beneath  the  hillock 
in  the  middle  of  the  thronged  wagons. 

"  What  will  be  the  end  of  all  this  ?"  said 
Rasinski,  looking  over  the  mighty  train. 
"  How  will  the  army  be  able  to  move  with 
such  heaps  of  baggage  ?  My  ho]}e  is  that 
the  first  attack  of  tl^  Cossacks  will  rid  us  at 
least  of  the  half  of  this  troublesome  super- 
fluity. How  blindly  has  covetousness  col- 
lected this  ruinous  plunder !  How  miserably 
has  avarice  laden  itself  with  a  burthen  under 
which  it  must  eventually  sink !" 

"  I  should  not  wonder  if  the  Emperor  or- 
dered the  whole  baggage  to  be  burnt  as  soon 
as  we  reach  the  open  field,"  observed  Jaromir, 
gazing  about  with  unaffected  indifference. 

"  That  he  will  not  do,"  answered  Rasinski, 
"for  he  will  not  deprive  the  soldiers,  who, 
setting  peril  and  death  at  defiance — have 
marched  over  two-thirds  of  Europe— of  their 
reward  in  this  so  oflen-promised  booty.  Be- 
lieve me,  however,  that  before  nightfall  they 
will  commence  discharging  their  tallast  them- 
selves. See  those  two  men  yonder !  To 
judge  from  their  appearance  they  must  be 
officers'  servants,  and  yet  they  have  put 
themselves  before  a  hand-cart,  dragging  it 
with  great  difficulty.  Their  strength  will  not 
last  them  six  hours,  and  still,  blinded  by  ava- 
rice, they  forget  that  the  distance  between 
here  and  Paris  is  eight  hundred  leagues. 
How  long  will  their  axles  last  ?  When  one 
of  them'  breaks,  who  can  procure  another  ? 
The  artillery  is  hardly  able  to  do  it.  The 
Emperor,  though  looking  at  it  with  dis- 
pleasure, will  let  time  inform  the  misers  of 
the  imfiracticability  of  their  designs.  Look 
there  !  a  wagon  is  upset :  do  you  see  ?  Al- 
ready— half  a  mile  only  from  Moscow,  some 
one  will  be  compelled  to  part  with  what  he 
probably  intended  to  carry  with  him  to  Paris !" 
The  wagon  pointed  out  by  Rasinski  was 
overladen  with  booty — an  axle  broke,  and 
down  it  came  on  the  road.  Immediately  the 
file  stopped — those  pressing  on  behind  crying 
indignantly :  "  Forward  !" 


upset  cart,  and  there  being  no  room  to  pass  by, 
one  of  the  drivers  behind  cried  out : 
"  Throw  that  trash  out  of  the  way  !" 
Immediately  an  irresistible  force  was  ready 
to  obey  the  sudden  command.  In  vain  the 
owner  grumbled  and  cursed,  and  strove  to 
defend  his  booty.  In  less  than  two  minutes 
he  was  surrounded  on  all  sides ;  and  not  only 
was  the  cart  pillaged  of  all  it  contained,  but 
the  horses  were  unharnessed — the  wheels 
taken  off,  and  the  body  of  the  vehicle  broken 
up  and  thrown  aside  ;  so  that  the  road  was 
once  more  clear.    The  howling  fury  of  the 

f)lundered  man  was  drowned  in  the  scornful 
aughter  of  the  bystanders ;  no  one  troubled 
his  head  about  the  matter,  or  dreamed  of  af- 
fording assistance  to  the  despoiled  individual, 
who  might  consider  himself  fortunate  that  his 
horses  were  left  him. 

"  If  this  happens  on  the  first  day's  march, 
at  the  gates  of  Moscow,"  observed  Rasinski, 
"what  is  to  be  expected  when  an  enemy 
threatens  these  heavy-laden  masses  ?  Yonder 
marauder  has  saved  nothing  but  his  pair  of 
lean  horses.  The  others  may  think  them- 
selves lucky  if  they  save  as  much  from  the 
first  feint-attack  of  half  a  hundred  Cossacks ! 
The  fellow  now  howling  and  cursing  is  the 
luckiest  of  them  all ;  for  he  is  the  first  reliev- 
ed from  his  useless  drudgery.  This  very  day 
he  will  have  abundant  opportunity  to  l^gh 
and  scoff  in  his  turn,  perhaps  at  his  despoilers 
themselves ;  and  before  a  week  is  over,  he 
will  bless  his  stars  that  he  has  been  saved  the 
profitless  toil.  The  difference  is  merely  that 
he  loses  to-day  what  others  will  lose  to-mor- 
row and  the  day  after :  of  all  these  thousands 
not  one  will  ultimately  profit  by  his  booty." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Bernard,  "  that  we  are 
so  near  the  last,  for  I  do  not  suppose  that  the 
regiments  in  advance  can  form  any  idea  of 
the  kite-tail  they  are  dragging  behind  them. 
After  all,  the  scene  is  a  gay  one.  The  ex- 
pedition of  the  witches  on  the  Brocken  could 
not  appear  more  fantastic  than  the  masque- 
rade before  us  just  now.  At  the  building  of 
the  tower  of  Babel  it  was  not  cursed  with  so 
many  different  languages  as  here,  and  a 
police  record  of  all  the  things  stolen  in  Lon- 
don for  a  thousand  years  would  be  but  a  jest 
beside  the  inventory  of  this  motley  crew.  I 
do  not  believe  there  is  a  copper  kettle — a  fry- 
ing-pan— an  old  trencher — a  pair  of  tongs, 
not  even  a  broken  stick  left  in  Moscow,  so 
much  trash  is  there  heaped  upon  this  rampart 
of  carts."  Turning  towards  Jaromir  to  cheer 
him  up  a  little,  he  said :  "  Look  at  that  train  ^ 
of  wagons  yonder,  which  the  Emperor  will  % 
soon  overhaul ;  that  is  a  company  of  Ama- 
zons, I  think,  for  I  see  nothing  but  women, 
and  they,  too,  are  dressed  as  if  they  were 
I  about  to  perform  an  oriental  fairy  play." 


It  was  impossible  immediately  to  raise  the  '     "  Why  they  really  are  the  troupe  who 


^^f:^-IFT"*~-''    " 


193 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


were  playing  at  Moscow,"  observed  Louis. 
At  the  mention  of  players  Jaromir  started 
as  he  cast  a  glance  at  the  train.  Alisette 
was  probably  among  them;  he  had  reason 
for  believing  so. 

After  that  terrible  night  he  had  heard 
nothing  about  her,  although  he  had  visited  the 
hospital  twice,  to  call  on  sick  officers  of  his 
regiment,  and  consequently  had  seen  Reg- 
nard  also ;  yet  Regnard  had  never  touched 
upon  the  subject,  and  perhaps  he  was  in- 
duced so  to  act  either  through  magnanimity 
in  consciousness  of  his  wrong,  or  out  of  com- 
passion for  Jaromir.  At  all  times  Regnard 
was  more  than  punctilious  in  affairs  of  honor, 
but  the  unhappy  turn  the  occurrence  had 
taken  with  regard  to  Jaromir,  as  well  as 
Francoise  Alisette,  made  his  intentional  for- 
getfulness  natural !  Whether  his  connec- 
tion with  her — for  he  had  supported  her,  and 
was  the  cause  of  her  coming  to  Moscow — 
still  lasted  ;  or  whether  he  had  left  the  faith- 
less woman  to  shift  for  herself,  Jaromir  knew 
not;  he  would  even  never  have  learned  that 
she  had  been  saved  that  night,  had  not  an  ac- 
cidental mention  of  the  name  of  the  girl  by 
an  officer  of  Regnard's  regiment  proved  to 
him  that  she  was  still  alive.  Now  she  was 
perhaps  scarcely  a  hundred  paces  from  him  ! 
The  main-road  dividing  itself  here,  and  Ra- 
sinskf,  waiting  only  for  a  more  favorable 
moment  to  gain  it,  it  might  so  chance  that 
they  would  meet  each  other  again  face  to 
fade.  This  thought  made  his  heart  beat  vio- 
lently. He  felt,  that  if  the  traitress  had  una- 
wares appeared  before  him,  he  should  have 
lost  all  self-command.  His  attention  being 
called  to  it  now  by  the  hint  from  Bernard,  he 
had  time  to  prepare  himself,  and  thus  he  de- 
termined, if  an  accident  should  bring  him 
into  her  immediate  presence,  to  treat  her  with 
the  coldest  contempt. 

"  What  shines  so  bright  yonder  ?"  asked 
Bernard  suddenly.  "  It  must  be  the  magic 
mirror  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  What  lies 
there  on  that  eight-horse  wagon  ?  Is  it  a 
quiver  of  forked  lightnings,  or  a  living  fire- 
brand as  a  sample  of  the  conflagration  ?" 

Louis  and  Rasinski  looked  in  that  direc- 
tion also,  for  in  the  midst  of  the  black  figures 
who  formed  the  march  beneath,  there  actu- 
ally flashed  something  resembling  a  beaming 
sun.  The  crowd  of  horsemen  and  wagons 
prevented  them  from  distinguishing  for  some 
time  what  it  was.  When,  however,  for  a 
moment  an  opening  was  made,  they  detected 
an  immense  golden  cross. 

"  It  is,"  said  Jaromir,  in  a  solemn  voice, 
"  the  cross  of  St.  Ivan,  which  stood  on  the 
tower  of  the  Kremlin.  The  Russians  regard 
it  as  their  holiest  relic — as  the  palladium  of 
their  capital.  From  my  windows  I  saw  when 
it  was  taken  down.    The  day  was  foggy, 


and  the  evening  twilight  had  already  set  in. 
Flights  of  ravens  whirled  through  the  air,  and 
fluttered,  croaking  about  the  tall,  shining 
steeple.  A  scaffold  was  erected — ladders 
were  put  up — capstans  placed  round  about 
and  lines  arranged  ;  the  workmen  were  unin- 
terruptedly active,  and  yet  the  flocks  of  ra- 
vens did  not  go  away,  but  with  hoarse  cries 
they  surrounded  the  brilliant  cross,  now  in 
wide — now  in  narrow  circles.  A  crowd  of 
Russians  were  standing  under  my  window ; 
there  were  many  women  among  them.  They, 
crossed  their  arms  over  their  breasts,  and  rev- 
erentially, and  in  a  low  tone  they  murmured 
their  prayers.  One  of  these  women,  of  a 
tall  figure,  dressed  in  strange  apparel,  with  a 
red  scarf  twisted  like  a  turban  around  her 
grey  hair,  raised  her  hands  high,  and  tracing 
mysterious  signs  in  the  air,  continually  pro- 
nounced some  incomprehensible  words  in  a 
mystic  tone  of  voice.  The  sight  was  a 
solemn  one,  and  when  the  capstans  were  set 
in  operation  and  the  cryss  began  to  bend 
downwards,  the  whole  crowd  broke  out  into  a 
loud  howl,  beat  their  breasts,  tore  their  hair, 
and  as  if  frightened  by  the  appearance  of  a 
horrible  monster,  burst  away  in  all  directions. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  had  entertained  the  hope, 
by  their  prayers  and  conjurations,  to  save  the 
holy  relic,  and  as  if  horror  had  now  over- 
whelmed them  as  they  saw  it  fall  by  the 
means  of  infidel  hands.  The  air  suddenly 
resounded  with  a  loud  and  dissonant  croak- 
ing, the  rookery  of  ravens,  as  if  scaied 
to  see  their  old  home,  under  which  for  cen- 
turies they  had  built  their  nests,  removed  from 
its  resting-place,  flew  away  in  a  dense  and 
dark  mass,  and  disappeared  in  the  increasing 
gloom  of  the  evening." 

"  A  true  picture  of  that  night !"  exclaimed 
Bernard.  "The  woman  you  mentioned  I 
have  myself  seen,  I  think,  on  the  walls  of  the 
Kremlin,  the  first  day  we  were  in  Moscow. 
She  actually  looked  like  a  mother  of  witches 
— a  true  witch  of  Endor." 

The  others  were  silent,  although  every  one 
felt  himself  agitated  by  a  singular  feeling. 
Bernard  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Jaromir. 
How  was  his  youthful  appearance  changed  ! 
Even  his  light  curls  were  hanging  idly  and 
heavily  beside  his  temples.  "  Is  it  the  same 
man  ?"  asked  Bernard  of  himself.  "  Compare 
him  with  the  portrait  you  drew  of  him  at'War- 
saw— would  you  find  any  resemblance  ?"  Lay- 
ing his  hand  familiarly  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
young  friend,  he  said — "  Cheer  up  I  Indulge 
no  sad  forebodings.  The  war  before  us  re- 
quires courage  and  strength.  You  were  a 
soldier  once — you  are  now  a  disheartened 
woman !  Heretofore  your  spirits  sustained 
my  own — you  seem  now  to  despond,  and  I  am  • 
well-nigh  fallen  into  despondency  myself- 
Brother  of  my  heart,  cheer  up  anew ;  shake 


'     NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


off  the  weight  that  bows  down  your  resolu- 
tion, and  raise  your  head  again  like  a  rtan  !" 
^  Jaromir  was  about  answering,  ifrhen  a  turn 
round  a  hill,  which  had  for  some  time  pre- 
vented them  from  seeing  the  main-road, 
brought  the  horsemen  into  the  line  of  mai:ch. 
Rasinski  observing  an  opening  by  which  he 
could  pass  through  the  chain  of  wagons,  put 
his  men  into  rapid  motion,  placing  himself  at 
their  head. 

Thus  the  conversation  that  Bernard  had 
begun  was  interrupted.  Rasinski's  plan 
proved  successful ;  unexpectedly  he  broke 
into  the  opening  and  soon  reached  the  main- 
road  with  his  soldiers,  keeping  them  between 
the  wagons.  "  Now,"  he  said  with  satisfac- 
tion, '•  we  can  travel  on  the  road  as  long  as 
we  please,  and  leave  it  when  we  think  pro- 
per." 

As  usual  on  such  occasions,  their  progress 
was  occasionally  checked ;  at  one  time  they 
were  compelled  to  halt  for  several  minutes  ; 
at  another  to  ride  at  full  speed.  This  made 
the  march  very  unpleasant ;  and  moreover,  it 
had  lost  its  former  interest,  as  they  had  no 
full  view  of  the  wagons,  their  observation  be- 
ing limited  to  objects  immediately  around 
them. 

The  Emperor  was  behind  Rasinski's  horse- 
men; before  them  were  driven  a  number  of 
wagons  covered  with  banners  captured  from 
the  enemy.  Turkish,  Tartarian,  and  Russian 
trophies  were  mingled  together. 

"  Give  way  !  give  way  for  the  Emperor  !" 
was  shouted  behind  them,  and  Rasinski  com- 
manded his  troops  to  break  for  the  purpose  of 
occupying  only  half  the  width  of  the  road. 
The  Emperor  hastened  forward  for  some  dis- 
tance, but  suddenly  he  put  his  horse  to  a  trot, 
.  and  appeared  to  converse  with  people  who 
were  on  a  wagon  by  his  side.  The  driver  ur- 
ged on  his  horses  to  keep  pace  with  the  swifter 
animal  on  which  the  Emperor  rode.  Thus  the 
wagon  advanced  by  degrees  and  passed  by  the 
side  of  the  Polish  horsemen,  leaving  them  to 
the  left,  while  Napoleon  kept  to  the  right  of 
the  wagon,  in  which  were  seated  three  hand- 
some women  and  one  child.  When  tifc  Em- 
peror approached,  Jaromir  looked  at  him  with 
irresolution, for  it  would  partly  have  made  him 
glad  and  partly  pained  him  to  be  recognised  ; 
the  Emperor,  however,  was  conversing  with 
a  lady  thickly  enveloped  in  rich  furs,  who,  to 
judge  by  her  attire,  appeared  to  be  the  wife 
of  some  officer  of  rank. 

"  You  must  not  lose  courage,"  he  said. 
"  Next  winter  we  can  make  good  at  Peters- 
burg what  we  have  ileglected  at  Moscow. 
A  pleasant  journey  to  you." 

With  these  words  he  passed  on  without 
•observing  Jaromir.  But  the  young  lady 
turned  her  head  to  the   left. — It   was  Ali- 


sette! 


She  was  disconcerted ;  and  growing  paw, 
she  suddenly  averted  her  countenance.  Ja^ 
romi^s  feelings  were  in  a  state  of  violeflt 
commotion.  Anger  and  disgust  took  alternate 
possession  of  him ;  yet  by  an  effort  he  retained 
his  self-possession,  and  directing  a  glance 
of  scorn  upon  her  as  she  furtively  raised  her 
eyes  towards  him,  he  turned  his  horse  in  an- 
other direction.  Alisette  pulled  the  veil  over 
her  face,  endeavoring  to  conceal  the  flame  of 
anger  and  shame  which  colored  her  cheeks. 
No  other  had  recognised  her,  and  now  she  de- 
sired to  be  recognised  by  no  one.  Therefore, 
she  placed  her  little  niece  upon  her  lap  and 
played  with  her  until  Rasinski  had  got  in  ad- 
vance of  the  wagon,  which  now  proceeded 
more  slowly.  As  soon  as  they  came  to  even 
ground  by  the  road,  Rasinski  broke  to  the 
right  with  the  design  of  reaching  the  head  of 
the  column,  it  being  his  main  object  to  over- 
take the  regular  troops  and  join  his  corps  in 
the  rear,  from  which  he  had  been  deterred 
since  the  preceding  night. 


x^- 


13 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

Seven  /lays  had  elapsed  since  the  Empe- 
ror had  left  Moscow.  The  army  stood  by 
Malo-Jaroslawetz,  which  had  been  taken  by 
storm  the  day  previous.  Orders  to  march 
forward  were  anxiously  expected,  and  it  was 
hoped  that  a  battle  might  be  defought  against 
the  whole  strength  of  Kutosow,  before  Ka- 
louga.  In  a  small,  miserable  hut,  in  which 
Rasinski  had  taken  up  his  abode,  Louis,  Ber- 
nard, Jaromir,  and  Boleslaus  awaited  his  re- 
turn from  head-quarters,  whither  he  had  rid- 
den late  in  the  evening. 

Jaromir's  grief  and  the  cause  of  it,  as  well 
as  Alisette's  presence  in  the  army,  were  no 
longer  a  secret  to  the  friends,  for  he  had 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  Rasinski. 

In  his  pure,  noble  mind,  Boleslaus  felt  Ja- 
romir's anguish  almost  as  keenly  as  the 
young  man  did  himself.  Familiar  with  the 
manly  contest  of  self-control,  he  had  gained 
the  last  decisive  victory  over  himself;  and 
thus,  in  the  midst  of  his  own  sadness,  a 
cheerful  feeling,  the  reward  of  a  moral  tri- 
umph, had  entered  his  soul. 

Louis  and  Bernard  also  felt  the  purest 
sympathy  for  Jaromir,  and  had  already  for- 
given him  his  error  ;  both  of  them,  however, 
were  too  much  occupied  by  the  events  at 
Moscow,  as  well  as  by  their  own  wonderfully 
interwoven  existence,  to  enter  entirely  into 
that  of  their  friend  Jaromir's. 

Boleslaus  led  Jaromir  out  of  the  hut,  which 
was  built  upon  a  small  hillock.     In  the  in&- 


*; 


.  .■ii.i.iK.vmi 


IN 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


lancholy  light  of  the  already  vraning  moon, 
they  overlooked  a  wide  plain,  covered  by  a 
vast  encampment  and  immense  quantities  of 
baggage.  The  Lanja  encircled  the  field 
with  its  winding  stream  ;  behind  it  arose 
steep  hillocks,  crowned  with  dark  pine-trees. 
In  those  forests  Kutosow  was  occupying  an 
impregnable  position.  Beneath  those  hillocks 
lay  the  smoking  ruins  of  Malo-Jarcslawetz, 
which,  but  the  day  preceding,  had  been  the 
theatre  of  a  terrible  conflict. 

The  distant  gallop  and  snorting  of  a  horse 
interrupted  the  stillness.  It  was  Rasinski 
coming  at  full  speed.  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus 
hastened  to  meet  him.  He  saluted  them, 
dismounted,  and  threw  the  bridle  to  an  or- 
derly, with  instructions  to  give  the  animal  a 
good  meal.  He  then  announced  that  they 
were  about  to  move. 

"  Do  we  advance  ?"  asked  Jaromir,  when 
they  re-entered  the  hut. 
*  "  Advance  I  We  must  forget  that  word  in 
this  campaign,"  answered  Rasinski,  sadly. 
"  One  thing  only  is  wanting  to  complete  the 
Emperor's  reputation — a  famous  'retreai. 
From  this  day  the  world  will  have  this  also 
whereof  to  speak." 

The  deep-furrowed  forehead,  the  measured 
tone,  with  which  Rasinski  gave  this  infor- 
mation, aroused  a  melancholv  foreboding  in 
all. 

"  Retreat  ? — to  Moscow  ? — or  whither  ?" 
inquired  Boleslaus. 

"  To  Moscow  ! — to  plant  our  banners  on 
the  ruins  of  the  Kremlin !"  said  Rasinski. 
**  Have  you  forgotten  already  the  earthquake 
of  the  day  before  yesterday  ?  That  was  Mor- 
tier  blowing  up  the  old  capitol  of  tlie  Czars. 
At  noon,  yesterday,  the  Emperor  received 
information  that  the  Cossacks  were  swarm- 
ing about  the  ruins  of  Moscow.  Mortier  is 
in  march  toward  Werreja;  lie  has  taken 
General  Winzingerode  prisoner.  Such  is 
the  latest  intelligence-  from  that  quarter  ; — 
the  latest  in  this  is,  that  within  an  hour  we 
shall  be  in  march  b-ick  to  Smolensko." 

'To  Smolensko!" 

"  Till  midnight  the  council  of  war  remained 
sitting.  The  discussion  was  stormy.  Murat 
would  attack  Kutosow.  Bessieres,  who  had 
reconnoitred  the  position  of  the  latter,  de- 
clared it  impregnable.     Napoleon  said, 

" '  We  have  done  enough  for  our  glory  ;  it 
ia  time  to  act  for  our  safety.' 

"  Davoust  desired  that,  at  least,  we  should 
throw  ourselves  upon  Platoflf  and  his  Cos- 
sacks, and  thus  open  a  way  to  Medyn.  The 
Emperor  decided  upon  a  retreat  over  the 
Mojaisk.  Thus  we  will  have  to  retrace  the 
sorrowful  road  we  traversed  some  two  months 
ago." 

"  The  Emperor  retreat !"  exclaimed  Jaro- 
mir, staring  incredulously  at  Rasinski. 


"  And  thus  the'bloody  victory  of  yesterday 
ia  also  to  prove  fruitless?^  observed  Boles* 
laus,  with.a  solemn  shaJie  of  his  head. 

"  It  has,  at  least,  furnished  aoother  stone  * 
to  our  great  captain's  pedestal,"  replied  Ra- 
sinski. "  I  have  seen  the  battle-field — it  looks 
terrible  !  Bleeding  and  mutilated  wretches 
are  yet  crawling  from  among  the  smoking 
ruins.  There  is  no  victory  in  Russia  at 
which  humanity  must  not  shudder.  Flames 
are  always  there — the  scourging  companion 
of  the  sword.  In  this  way  these  Scythians 
carried  on  their  wars  in  these  deserts  thou- 
sands of  years  ago.  And  what  a  conflict ! 
The  valiant  Delzon,  at  the  head  of  his  sol- 
diers, makes  an  attack — a  bullet  stretches 
him  on  the  ground.  The  soldiers,  seeing 
their  commander  falling,  become  discoura<.'ed ; 
they  hesitate — they  retreat — the  Russians 
press  forward.  Delzon's  brother,  to  save  the 
dead  body,  throws  himself  alone  into  the  ca-  * 
nopy  of  smoke  poured  out  irom  the  advancing 
guns  of  the  enemy.  Clasping  him  within 
his  arms,  he  raises  him  up,  then  a  murderous 
ball  strikes  him  also ;  with  the  dear  burden 
he  sinks  to  the  earth,  and  breathes  his  last 
upon  the  cold  heart  of  his  brother !  The 
Italian  recruits  have  fought  for  the  first 
time,  and  like  young  lions  that  chase  their 
first  prey.  No  nation  is  exclusively  brave — 
all  men  are  brave  who  are  commanded  by 
heroes." 

"  And  the  most  daring  of  heroes  commands 
a  retreat !"  exclaimed  Jaromir. 

'•  Who  knows  whether  the  most  daring  is 
not  necessary  for  that  purpose  ?"  answered 
Rasinski ;  "  besides,  other  troubles  are  grow- 
ing. The  Emperor  is  receiving  letter  after 
letter  from  Germany,  which  make  the  sincer- 
ity of  his  German  allies  more  and  more  to  be 
doubted.  Marshal  Macdonald  reports  the 
Prussian  regiments  fight  reluctantly  against 
the  Russians,  although  his  bulletins  speak 
publicly  to  the  contrary.  With  the  inac- 
tivity of  the  troops  commanded  by  Prince 
Schwarzenberg,  the  Emperor  is  also  dissatis- 
fied; he  sees  in  it  that  Austria  is  no  sincere 
ally,  notwithstanding  the  family  ties  which 
have  united  the  two  Emperors.  The  agents 
in  the  interior  of  Germany  write  of  secret 
confederacies  of  German  patriots  against 
France  and  French  government — of  wide- 
spread and  loudly-spoken  rumors — of  incau- 
tious words — of  secret  understandings  with 
the  very  army  of  the  enemy  !" 

An  orderly  was  announced,  bringing  the 
order  for  breaking  up.  Within  half  an  hour 
the  men,  all  in  the  saddle,  were  in  full  re- 
treat. 

Rasinski's  countenance  was  clouded ;  he 
said  nothing,  but  looked  frequently  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  theatre  of  yesterday's  conflict, 
which  lay  yet  enveloped  irt  the  veil  of  night.     ^ 


UAVOVBOKS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


196 


As  the  Toad  wound  round  a  lonely,  sterile 
till,  he  rode  up  it  alone.  On  its  stormy  sum- 
mit he  halted,  looking  over  the  desolate  pla- 
ces of  death.  The  smoke  from  the  ruins 
mingled  itself  with  that  from  the  watch-fires, 
which  the  rear^guard  had  kindled  to  deceive 
the  enemy.  On  the  other  side,  thwugh  the 
woods,  numberless  stars  were  seen  to  Bicker 
in  the  darkness,  indicating  the  encampment 
of  the  Russian  army. 

A  trembling  shook  the  strong  frame  of  the 
soldier.  The  wind  whistled  over  the  hillocks 
and  murmured  through  the  tops  of  the  old 
pine  trees  stretching  their  branches  above 
Hasinski's  head.  His  steed  pawed  the  earth 
and  shook  his  mane  floating  wild  in  the  wind. 
Dread  forebodings,  which  seemed  to  paint  the 
terrible  future  to  his  mind,  gained  more  and 
more  their  power  over  him.  He  turned  his 
•hoTBe  and  rejoined  his  friends. 


CHAPTER  LXH. 

"  This  night- wind  has  been  rough  !— What 
a  fog  hovers  about!"  exclaimed  Bernard, 
shaking  himself,  as  he  sprang  up  from  his 
place  by  the  nearly  extinguished  fire.  "  I 
thought  we  should  feel  cold  with  no  more 
fire  ^an  these  thfee  charred  logs  !  HaUoo, 
Louis!  Get  up,  lad;  have  you  no  ears  for 
the  trumpeter  ?" 

Louis  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  hin( 
as  at  a  stranger. 

"  Why !  don't  you  know  me  ?"  said  Ber- 
^nard,  jestingly.  "  You  really  look  as  if  you 
had  just  fallen  into  this  world  from  one  of  the 
•planets." 

"  And  it  is  very  nearly  the  fact,"  replied 
Louis,  who  began  to  recover  from  the  deep 
sleep  into  which  his  fatigue  had  thrown  him. 

"  A  devil  of  a  night,  Loais.  The  damp 
fog  penetrates  a  man  to  the  very  marrow. 
But  on  horseback,  perhaps,  we  may  feel  bet- 
ter." 

As  well  as  circumstances  would  permit, 
the  two  friends  made  their  rough  toilet  and 
then  repaired  to  their  horses,  v/here  most  of 
their  comrades  were  preparing  forthe  march. 
In  a  short  time  all  were  again  in  retreat. 

At  midnight  they  had  lam  down  to  rest, 
and  it  had  hardly  yet  begun  to  dav/n  ;  in  con- 
stant apprehension  of  being  pursued  by  the 
Russian  army,  the  retreat  was  niade  with  the 
greatest  celerity. 

As  daylight  fully  tfame,  the  fog  began  to 
disperse.  Rasinski  pointed  with  his  sword 
to  some  hillocks,  enveloped  partly  in  mist. 
"  That  is  the  Mojaisk,"  he  6aid ;  "  we  are 
now  on  our  old  road  again.  Sioce  it  was  de- 


termined that  we  should  positively  retreat  by 
this  r«ad,  it  had  been  better  we  had  turned 
into  it  direct  from  Moscow.  We  have  lost 
full  eight  days,  and  might  have  been  very 
near  Smolensko  by  this  time." 

"  Are  you  going  to  pass  that  crowd  ?" 
asked  Bernard. 

"No,"  answered  Rasinski;  "we  turn  to 
the  left  here,  through  the  rivulet,  for  yonder 
everything  will  be  stopped  again.  It  is  a 
great  advantage  to  us  that  we  need  not  so 
strictly  follow  the  orders  as  the  rest  of  the 
army.  Every  one,  however,  begins  to  look 
out  for  himself.  See  you  how  the  artillery 
is  proceeding  up  the  hill,  yonder?  The  guns 
are  almost  fast  in  the  deep  mud,  and  yet 
their  number  of  horses  is  doubled." 

"  VVe  shall  have  frost,  I  think,"  observed 
Louis;  "  the  air  is  clearing  up." 

"  That  would  not  be  so  bad,"  said  Bernard, 
"  for  it  is  horrible  work  marching  in  this  soft 
mire." 

"  Spare  your  prayers  for  the  winter ;  it 
will  overtake  us  soon  enough !"  replied  Ra- 
sinski,,i/i  a  serious  voice.  "  Our  march  is 
troublesome  now,  but  still  endurable.  In 
Russia  the  winter  remains  not  standing  on 
the  threshold — it  instantly  reigns  in  the  plen- 
iUide  of  its  power.  So  don't  waste  your 
breath  through  misconceiving  your  object." 

"  I  think  it  will  come  without  our  will  or 
desire,"  said  Bernard ;  "  the  north-easterly 
wind  blows  upon  our  back,  which,  however, 
is  better  than  yesterday,  when  it  blew  the 
drizzling  rain  into  our  faces  I  scent  some- 
thing like  snow  in  the  air." 

While  thus  conversing,  they  had  reached 
the  brook  and  rode  across  it,  where  it  was 
easily  fordable.  On  the  other  side  they 
joined  the  artillery,  which,  forming  the  head 
of  the  train,  had  gained  a  considerable  start. 

•*  Bless  me  !"  exclaimed  Bernard,  "  how 
sharp  the  wind  blows !" 

Widi  the  experienced  eye  ©f  a  soldier,  Ra- 
sinski looked  attentively  over  the  plain.  It 
offered  but  little  variation,  extending  itself  in 
all  directions  to  an  immeasurable  distance; 
nothing  interrupted  the  dead,  comfortless 
grey  of  this  landscape,  but  the  black  ranges 
of  pine  wood  forest  at  the  uttermost  edge  of 
the  view. 

The  sun  had  shone  for  a  little  time,  but 
soon  the  heavens  began  to  be  darkened  by 
clonds. 

Several  columns  of  infantry  had  by  de- 
grees overtaken  the  cavalry,  which  could 
proceed  but  slowly  on  account  of  the  ex- 
haustion of  the  horses.  Various  uniforms 
were  mixed  together  in  confusion.  Disci- 
pline, with  regard  to  regiments,  could  no 
longer  be  maintained ;  every  one  protected 
himself  against  wind  and  weather  as  well  as 
be  could.    By  manv  it  was  already  found 


■  r 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ANIT  TWELVE;  OR, 


distressing  to  endure  the  toils  of  the  march. 
I  While  Rasinski's  attention  vv<as  directed  to 
this  motley  crowd,  he  observed  a  horseman 
among  them  who  a]:^eared  to  be  an  oflScer 
of  rank.     It  was  Regnard. 

"  Rasinski !     Is  it'  you  ?"  he  said,  riding 
towards  him  and  giving  him  his  hand. 

"  It  is,  indeed  !"  answered  Rasinski,  hear- 
tily, who  had  made  it  his  rule  always  to  exr 
hibit  good  spirits  when  his  men  could  see  and 
*  hear  him. 

"  You  are  easily  satisfied — with  Hie  it  has 
gone  somewhat  harder,"  said  the  dragoon 
officer.  "One  of  my  eyes  has-been  inflam- 
ed ever  since  the  fire  of  Moscow.  I  suffer 
much  from  it,  and  these  damp  autumnal 
nights  have  done  their  best  to  increase  the 
evil." 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  little  moment,  I  hope, — 
such  things  cease  with  the  cause." 

"  Sometimes,  yes ;  like  hunger  for  in- 
stance ;  if  the  cause,  however,  lasts  too  long,, 
the  cure  will  be  too  late.  Sach  may  easily 
be  the  case  with  me.  Still,  I  don't  care  a 
fig,"  he  continued,  after  a  few  moments; 
"  one  sees  too  much  even  with  one  eye  here." 
"How  so?" 

"  IXd  yoa  not  pass,  through  the  battle- 
field ?" 

"■Ho;  I  took  a  bye-road  with  my  men." 
"  Yon  lost  nothing  by  that.  The  whole 
is  still  a  hospital.  Three  thousand  wouimI- 
ed  men  are  lying  there,  and  will  probably 
remain.  I  shudder  at  the  bare  thought  of  it* 
For  these  seven  weeks  they  have  lingered  in 
agony  and  wretchedness  !  They  are  half- 
frozen  to  death ;  the  greatest  part  of  them 
are  lying  upoii.  rotten  straw,  and  in  many 
cases  without  blankets  !  Scarcely  their  old 
eloaks  have  been  left  them.  Their  wounds 
are  dressed  with  oakum,  although  they  are 


served  in  Elgypt— let  me  not  perish  hers.  Tc 
France,  to  France — nay  father  !'  He  coul^ 
say  no  more.  The  Emperor  then,  ordered 
him  to  be  placsd  in  his  own  carriage,  and  to , 
be  taken  good  care  of.  I  aided,  myself,  itt 
raising  him  up,  but  before  we  got  him  into 
tlie  vehicle  he  expired." 

"  He  is  happy !"  i 

"Certainly!  I  can  imagine, however,  the 
misery  and  anguish  of  those  remaining,  when 
a  dying  v/retch  seea  the  future  wiSi  such 
dread  that  the  hope  of  escaping  it  gives  him 
such  strength  in  Itis  laat  moments." 

"  And  must  they,  then,  be  left  behind  ?" 
asked  Rasinski,  shuddering  at  their  condition. 

"  Can  you  carry,  tliem  away  ? — and  can 
they  endure  tlie  march  ?  The  Emperor  has 
ordered  that  every  baggage-wagon  shall  take 
up  a>man  ;  they  Will  endeavor  to  save  those 
who  can  yet  be  saved.  The  others  will  b« 
left  to  the  mercy  of  the  enemy." 

"  Tender  meroieSj  indeed!"  groaned  Ra- 
sinski. 

"  They  may  call  themselves  happy,"  con- 
tinued Regnard,  adjusting  the  bandage  over 
his  inflamed  eye,  "if  they  but  soon  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Should  he  tarry 
longf  they  must  perish  in  the  most  miserable 
manner.  The  greater  part  of  them  can't 
move  themselves.^It   begins  to  get  thick 


in   a   state  of  gangrene  even  to  the   very 
bones." 

"  Speak  not  so  loud,"  said  R-asinski ;  "pic- 
tures like  these  discourage  the  men." 

"  Pictures  are  unnecessary ;  they  have 
seea  the  miseries  themselves.  When  wc  were 
marching  through,  those  who  still  v/ere  ca- 
pable of  moving  stretched  forth  their  hands, 
crying,  "  Take  us  with  yon — let  u&  not  per- 
ish here  !"  The  rumor  tliat  we  were  retreat- 
ing had  been  spread.  They  iiad  some  com- 
fort in  hope  before — despair  is  now  their 
portion.  They  lamented  and  moaned  aloud  ; 
some  of  them  cursed  Iteaven  and  earth.  A 
dragoon — I  recognised  him  by  the  cloak — 
both  of  whose  feet  had  been  amputated,  had 
crawled  with  his  miserably-dressed  stumps 
to  the  threshold  of  the  hut  in  which  he  lay, 
and  with  raised  hands,  as  a  pale  spectre  of 
utter  hopelessness,  implored  my  aid  as  I 
passed.  The  Emperor  came  past  at  the  time, 
and  the  wretched  man  cri^d,  *  Sire,  I  have 


agrain. 

TI19  fog  had  actually  descended,  moist 
and  cold,  upon  the  fields^  imaking  it  impossi- 
ble to  see  objects  at  the  distance  of  a  hun^ 
dred  feet. 

*   "  I  have  never  seen  weather  like  this  be- 
fore," said  Bernard. 

"^  The  wind  has  shifted  to  the  north-weet,"^ 
said  Louis,  who  had  attentively  observed  the 
changes.  Wrapping  their  cloauks  more  close- 
ly around  them,  the  officers  proceeded  silent- 
ly on. 

Deep  silence  prevailed— the  dull  rumbling 
of  the  artillery  was  alone  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance. A  fev/  slight  undulations  of  the 
ground  had  accidentally  brought  Louis  about 
thirty  paces  to  the  right  of  his  friends.  Sud- 
denly his  horse  stumbled ;  he  pulled  up  tli» 
animal  by  the  bridle,  and  bent  forward  to  pee 
against  what  it  had  stumbled.  It  was  a  half-* 
decayed,  haif-aaked  body.  The  face,  chang- 
ed by  putrefaction  and  birds  of  prey  into  a 
disgusting  disfigurement  of  humanity,  stared 
Ijorribly  at  hitn.  An  involuntary  cry  escaped 
his  lips ;  and  his  horror  increased  when,  look- 
ing around  him,. he  observed  many  more  hu» 
man  bodies,  half  consum.ed,  in  the  deep  fur- 
rows of  the  land  close  by. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  askea  Bernard,  liearing  the 
outcry. 

"  Look  around  you  !'.'  answered  Louis^ 
fearfully. 

They  had  all  rode  on.  in  the  grey,  fog,  with* 


N^APOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


m 


sirt  faying  any  attention  to  'the  way  or  the 
wround.  A  blast  of  wind  dispersed  the  fog 
for  a  moment,  allowing  a  view  ©f  some  two 
hundred  paces, 

"  We  are  on  the  battle-field  !"  exclaimed 
Rasinsiri. 

"  Indeed!  I  did  not  suppose  that  we  were 
RO  near,"  said  Bernard,  looking  around. 

With  grave  «.ttention  they  permitted  their 
eyes  to  wander  over  that  desolate  and  silent 
field  of  death,  which  seven  weeks  before 
shook  with  the  terrible  uproar  of  a  conflict 
of  nations,  and  the  thunder  of  a  thousand 
guns.  As  when,  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  the 
eye  first  catches  sight  of  a  few  stars,  and  at 
every  Euceeeding  minute  discovers  more,  un- 
til at  last  the  whole  vault  is  seen  spangled 
throughout,  so  did  now  the  fearful  signs  of 
destruction  multiply,  under  the  horror-stricken 
eyes  of  the  soldiers  revisiting  this  scene  of 
carnage.  A  thick  atmosphere  was  moment- 
arily dispersed  by  the  wind  :  it  appeared  as 
though  it  removed  the  curtain  for  all  to  be- 
hold. Horror  penetrated  the  stoutest  hearts 
as  this  terrible  charnel-house  gradually  de- 
veloped itself.  First  they  saw  only  a  few 
corpses,  struck  by  the  hoofs  of  their  horses; 
anon,  the  numbers  multiplied  beyond  the 
power  of  counting ;  and  it  was  soon  evident 
that  every  dark  elevation  discovered  by  the 
eye  was  not  a  stone,  nor  a  fallen  tree,  nor  a 
mound,  but  a  human  body,  or  a  mass  of  bodies 
piled  up  together.  At  every  step  forward 
the  picture  o£  destruction  became  more  and 
more  loathsome.  The  wind  drove  a  poison- 
ous and  pestilential  vapor  in  their  faces,  an 
odor  so  disgusting  that  the  horses,  starting 
aside,  would  scarcely  obey  their  masters  ; 
and  only  when  urged  by  the  spur  would  they 
take  their  way  over  the  fearful  road.  They 
saw  large  elevations,  where  masses  of 
i)odies  had  been  thrown  together  and  so 
loosely  covered  with  earth,  that  the  storm 
and  rain  had  almost  washed  this  scanty  co-  ! 
vering  away.  In  many  places  the  dead  as- 
sumed the  most  horrible  positions;  the  bones 
of  some  were  half  covered  with  putrescent 
flesh ;  many  were  naked  and  already  bleached; 
-—of  others,  the  heads,  covered  with  rough, 
bloody  hair,  were  sunk  down  to  the  ground, 
the  legs  unnaturally  turned  upwards-;  and  of 
•not  a  few,  the  arm  was  lifted  high,  as  if  en- 1 
deavoring  to  work  themselves  up  from  their  ! 
-mouldering  grave.  Single  limbs,  half  gnawed  j 
'by  wolves  and  birds,  of  prey,  were  spread 
about.  Grinning  skulls,  with  hollow  sockets 
or  bloody  hair  dreadfully  hanging  about 
them,  stared  from  the  ground. 

Mingled  with  these  terrible  remains  were 
the  warlike  memorials  of  the  battle.  Crushed 
gun-carriages,  wheels,  drums,  rusty  balls, 
pieces  of  broken  muekets  and  swords,  shin- 
ing helmets  and  cuirasses,  lay  strewn  over 


the  field.  At  the  first  view  one  could  dis- 
cern the  places  where  the  cavalry  and  artil- 
lery had  fooght.;  they  were  covered  with  car-  ^■ 
casses,  partly  entire  and  partly  reduced  to 
s-keletons.  The  mist,  rolling  in  long  lines 
across  the  field,  at  ene  time  concealed,  at 
another  disclosed  these  scenes  of  horror ;  and 
at  length  it  was  so  much  dispersed  as  to  al- 
low the  sight  to  range  unrestricted  as  far  as 
the  dreadful  signs  of  destraction  and  death 
were  visible. 

"  Do  you  see  that  hill  yonder  ?"  said  Ra-  • 
sinski,  pointing  with  his  finger  to  an  un- 
sightly ruin,  which  appeared  to  rise  through 
the  haze.  "That  is  the  terrible  redoubt 
where  we  left  so  many  of  our  men.  Ah  i 
now  we  may  indeed  recognise  these  fields  of 
glory  and  herror,  where  tliirty  thousand  of 
our  comrades  Shed  their  blood  !" 

They  approached  nearer  once  more,  to  tra- 
verse a  place  which  naturally  would  inspire 
them  with  the  most  vivid  recollections.  All 
Vi^ere  silent  Each  one  bore  its  sorrowful  re- 
membrance deep  within  his  breast.  How 
much  more  fearful  looked  the  battle-field  now 
than  when  the  roaring  thunder  deafened  the 
ear,  end  the  heavy  guns  rolled  over  the 
ground!  Then  it  was  the  grim  countenance  ' 
of  an  enraged  giant,  now  the  horror-stricken 
visaeje  of  a  satiated  Nemesis. 

When  Rasinski  and  bis  frieads — for  the 
regiment  pursued  its  vvay  on  the  main-road 
— approached  the  redoubt,  the  horses  were 
scarcely  able  to  proceed,  from  the  number  of 
obstacles  covering  the  ground.  * 

"  What  can  that  be  on  the  rampart  yon- 
der ?"  uttered  Rasinski,  at  a  di-stauce  of  som** 
hundred  paces  from  the  entrenchment. 

"  I  can't  discern  it  yet,"  answered  Bernard  ; 
"  it  looks  like  a  broken  pyramid." 

"  It  is  wood  which  is  piled  up,  perhaps," 
said  Louis. 

"  That  can  scarcely  be,"  observed  Bernard, 
shaking  his  head  : "  a  singular  shape,  indeed.: 
it  would  puEzle  a  painter!" 

As  they  came  nearer,  the  sun  broke  out 
brilliantly  through  the  clouds.  On  a  sudden 
the  redoubt  brightly  shone,  v/hile  a  gloomy 
grey  still  prevailed  around. 

"  They  are  skeletons  !".ef:cl&imed  Rasin- 
.s^ki,  who  seemed  to  possess  the  keenest  sight. 
"  See  yoH  how  the  bones  are  shining,  bleached 
by  the  w'nd  and  rain  ?" 

Not  without  awe  they  rode  forward,  at  a 
more  rapid  pace,  and  found  that  Rasinski  was 
but  too  true  an  interpreter.  The  dead  piled 
up  in  the  interior  of  the  redoubt  projected 
high  above  the  wall.  Chance  had  brought 
their  backs  against  each  other,  in  a  half-up- 
right position.  Being  the  most  exposed  to 
the  elements  and  beasts  of  prey,  the  bones  of 
those  uppermost  were  almost  entirely  laid 
bare;  and  the  skeletons  seemed  how  seated 


'-*.. 


iw- 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  GB; 


'41 


I 


en  a  throne  of  corpses,  grinning  in  triumph. 

An  unearthly  revulsion  of  feeling  penetra- 

?jft.  ted  even  the   cold-blooded  Regnard,  as  he 

gazed   on  this   mockery  of  man.     He  con- 

jA  traded  his  brows  and  shook  himself,  as  if  an 

^         ague-chill  had  pierced  his  marrow. 

"  This  is  Canlaincourt's  mausoleum,"  he 
said  at  last.     "  Cbme,  let  us  be  off!" 

To  reach  the  column  again,  they  rode  on 
at  a  quick  pace,  constantly  stumbling  over 
corpses  and  frajrments.  A  deep  hollow  way 
«  crossed  the  fields  it  vi^as  the  same  on  which 
thny  had  returned  to  the  encampment  the  day 
after  the  battle,  and  which  the  next  day  they 
found  tilled  with  the  wounded  and  helpless, 
who  had  sought  a  shelter  there  against  the 
severity  of  the  night. 

*  Suddenly  a  sound  of  wailing  reached  their 
ears.  All  stopped  and  listened".  Tliey  looked 
far  around,  without  being  able  to  discover 
whence  the  voice  came. 

"  ft  must  be  in  that  cavity  behind  us,"  cried 
Rasinski,  quickly  turning  nis  horse  and  hast- 
ening to  a  small  elevation  half  covered  with 
underwood. 

"  Father  of  mercies  !"  cried  he,  dismount- 
ing from  his  horse.  The  others  did  not  at 
first  discern  what  gave  rise  to  this  exclama- 
tion ;  but  their  lips  and  cheeks  grew  pale 
when  they  at  length  discovered  a  man  iu  the 
carcass  of  a  horse,  which  had  been  ripped 
up,  and  who  from  his  disgusting  abode 
stretched  out  his  hands  towards  Rasinski,  im- 
ploring assistance. 

#  "  Heaven  defend  us  !"  he  exclaimed,  press- 
ing both  hi&  hands  against  his  face  ;  "  it  is 
Petrowski  !" 

Struck  dumb  with  amazement,  Louis,  Ber- 
nard, Boleslaus,.  and  Jaromir  sat  aghast  in 
their  saddles.  Jaromir  was  the  first  to  dis- 
0^,  mount  to  aid  Rasinski,  who  stood  before  Pe- 
trowski, pressing  both  his  hands.  He  had 
turned  the  face  of  tlie  dying  man  towards 
Jaromir ;  in  his  aspect  was  visible  a  convul- 
sive effort  to  overcome  the  agony  ho  suf- 
fered. Drops  of  cold  sweat  moistened  the 
forehead  of  the  hero,  and  large  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks — be  v»as  unable  to  i^ak. 

"  You  among  the  living  yet,  old"  faitljful 
comrade  .'"  cried  Rasinski  alter  a  long  si- 
lence, employed  in  giving  vent  to  his  op- 
pressed feelings.  "  1  made  search  for  you  in 
vain  among  the  dead." 

The  old  man,  emaciat*^d  by  misery  and 
starvation,  luid  still  a  tear  left  for  this  last 
show  of  attention. 

"  Praise  be  to  Heaven  !  I  am  thankful  I" 
were  the  only  words  he  was  capable  of  uttCB- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  Father  Almighty !"  exclaimed  Ra- 
sinski.    "  Tfiis  living  being,  dwelling  in  the 
bowels  of   corruption  !     His  food  what  the 
■^    hungry  wolf  and  the  vulture  have  slighted  ! 


Fifly  times  has  the  sun  passed  over  hitt  amC 
seen  bis  bopeleas  misery  V  f 

Jaromir,  Bernard,  Louis,  and  Boleslaus 
hastened  forward  to  lift  the  wretched  man 
from  his  tomb  y  but  his  eyes  were  sunk  deep 
into  the  sockets,  and  he  glared  unconscious- 
ly npon  his  visitors.  Yet  a  smile  seemed  to 
steal  over  his^  features,  harrowed  up  though 
-they  were  by  inconceivable  suffering.  He 
breathed  but  once  more — hie  head  fell  upon 
his  breast,  and  his  spirit  took  its  departure 
from  earth  ! 

Rasinski  held  firmly  the  hands  of  the  dy- 
ing soldier  ;  his  moistened  eyes  rested  upon    • 
the  pale  features,  which,  though  struggling 
with  agony,  yet  maintained  their  manly  ex- 
pression. . 

"  Look  at  this  noble  brow,  marked  with       \ 
scars  and  adorned  with  silvery  locks  !    He 
was   a   faithful   soldier!     Alas  I  that  such 
should  be  his  miserable  fate  !"  t 

"  No,  his  end  was  blessed  !"  said  Louis, 
whose  aspirations  were  heavenward,  and 
who  conceived  that  Providence  had  dealt 
kindly  with  the  old  man,  in  directing  the 
footsteps  of  his  old  friends  and  companions  to^ 
the  scene  of  his  release  from  all  earthly  want. 

"  All  is  over  1"  said  Rasinski,.  uttering  a^ 
deep  groan. 

Silently  they  remounted  their  horses  and 
rode  to  their  regiment,  which  they  overtook 
at  the  farthest  edge  of  that  plain  which  his- 
tory, faithful  to  the  mighty  deeds  of  the  past, 
will  point  out  to  posterity  throughout  all  ge- 
nerations. 


CHAPTER   LXIIL 

After  two  more  toilsome  days  the  army 
reached  Viazma,  where  the  Emperor  ordered  • 
a  halt,  to  await  the  rear-guard,,  commanded 
by  Marshal  Davoust.  The  troops  were 
almost  exhausted,  and  many,  weakened  by 
sickness  or  wounds,  had  been  left  behind. 

Rasinski  had:  been  fortunate  enough  to* 
lose  none  of  his  men,.a6cribable  to  his  early 
care  in  providing  them  with  warm  and  ser- 
viceable clothing.  Giving  a  good  example 
of  courageous  principles  himself^  he  had  been* 
able  to  preserve  the  spirit  of  fidelity  and  obe- 
dience among  them,  which,  under  such  hard»  4 
circumstances,  is  the  fhief  means  of  safiety.. 
The  soldier  is  utterly  lest,  if  he  give  way  to- 
want,  cold,  and  fatigue.  Rasinski  allowed 
no  man  to  absent  himself,  not  one  to  remain  ' 
behind;  nor  did  he  allow  any  slovenliness 
about  horses,  clothing,  or  arms.  His  officers,, 
as  well  as  Louis  and  Bernard^  were  active  in 
maintaining  this  discipline  ty  emolatiiig  hi» 
example.  -  :  ' 


,  1^ 


M 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


At  Yiszma,  Rasinski  sacceeded  Id  pro- 
viding tolerable  accommodations  for  men 
and  horsesJ  Three  side  walls  with  a  frag- 
ment of  a  roof,  the  remnants  of  an  old  house, 
were  used  as  a  stable  for  the  horses ;  as,  how- 
ever, there  was  not  room  for  all,  they  were 
changed  every  eight  hours.  Sufficient  straw 
had  been  procured  to  make  beds  for  them, 
but  their  feed  was  scanty  enough.  For 
himself  and  men,  Rasinski  had  taken  pos- 
session of  a  tenement,  which  appeared 
scarcely  capable  of  holding  thirty  people ;  by 
an  exact  division,  however,  of  the  narrow 
space,  it  was  possible  to  procure  sleeping 
places  for  sixty.  The  alternation  every 
eight  hours  during  which  that  number  slept, 
while  the  others  took  care  of  the  horses,  the 
watch-fires,  and  the  cooking,  enabled  the 
commander  to  give  his  men  a  reasonable 
share  of  both  rest  and  warmth. 

Before  daybreak  the  columns  were  again 
set  in  motion.  Their  way  led  through  vast 
pine  forests,  the  dull  uniformity  of  which 
seemed  to  increase  the  immense  distance  of 
the  army  from  its  native  land.  Rasinski 
was  ordered  to  form  in  the  rear,  to  urge  for- 
ward those  who  lingered  behind  ;  for  during 
the  last  two  days  so  many  had  dropped  off, 
that  it  became  indispensable  to  check  the 
disorder  as  speedily  and  as  effectually  as 
possible.  He  found  that  the  superfluous 
baggage^carts,  and  many  others  which  im- 
peded the  march,  had  been  burnt,  and  the 
horses  belonging  to  therti  put  before  the 
guns.  The  columns  made  but  slow  progress ; 
at  every  step  an  additional  supply  of  horses 
became  necessary  for  the  transportation  of 
the  artillery.  The  Emperor  was  compelled 
to  direct  that  every  second  horse  now  attach- 
ed to  the  ammunition  wagons  and  the  wag- 
ons of  the  officers  of  rank  should  immedi- 
ately be  transferred  to  the  gun-carriages. 
Now  it  was  that  wagons,  already  overladen 
and  deprived  of  half  of  their  means  of  trans- 
port, were  compelled  to  diminish  their  loads, 
or  be  altogether  abandoned.  The  road  was 
soon  thickly  strewn  with  all  manner  of  arti- 
cles^-even  costly  works  of  art  and  luxury 
were  thrown  from  the  wagons  as  so  much 
^filuele^s  trash,  and  only  fit  for  the  flames. 

"  You  recollect  the  occurrence  at  Moscow, 
where  the  wagon  was  upset  and  plundered  ? 
Was  I  not  right  in  saying,  that  man  was  the 
luckiest  of  all  ?"  Rasinski  observed. 

"  We  do,"  said  Jaromir. 

"  As  far  as  Smolensko,"  Rasinski  contin- 
ued, "  we  shall  be  able  to  struggle  onwards^ 
although  not  without  difficulty.  There  are 
provisions  there.  But  listen  J  was  not  that 
a  gun  ?  Indeed  it  was  !  A  second,  a  third  ! 
The  report  comes  from  the  direction  of  Vi- 
azma  !    Are  the  Russians  upon  us  ?" 

All  listened  attentively.    Booming  sounds 


interrupted  the  peaceful  morning.  Soon, 
however,  they  ceased,  and  nothing  was  heard 
more.  Meanwhile,  Rasinski  had  become 
very  apprehensive.  Until  now  they  had 
only  had  to  combat  the  hardships  of  a  long  and 
wearisome  journey  ;  but  should  the  enemy 
have  marched  with  combined  forces  to  attack 
them,  it  was  impossible  to  foresee  what  would 
become  of  the  army.  It  did  not  satisfy  him 
that  the  guns  were  silent  again  ;  ever  famil- 
iar with  the  Russian  manner  of  fighting,  he 
was  sure  that  at  least  a  detachment  of  dar- 
ing Cossacks  had  fallen  upon  some  of 
Davoust's  troops  ;  and  although,  perhapSj 
repulsed,  proved  the  near  presence  of  the 
enemy's  forces.  Meditating  on  the  conse- 
quences which  an  attack  would  produce,  he 
rode  thoughtfully  at  the  head  of  his  men. 

"Bliski!"  he  called,  beckoning  to  this 
officer,  "  you  have  been  a  long  time  in 
Russia,  are  you  particularly  familiar  with 
the  roads  between  Malo-Jaroslawetz,  and 
Smolensko  ?" 

"  I  think  I  am,  sir  !  I  have  crossed  more 
than  thirty  times  in  a  kibitka !"  answered 
the  light-hearted  soldier,  and  not  without  a 
certain  pride  that  his  commander  should 
avail  himself  of  his  knowledge. 

"  How  far  is  it  from  Malo-Jaroslawetz  to  ^ 
Viazma  over  Medyn  ?'' 

"  One  day's  march  at  least,  may  be  two, 
nearer  than  the  way  we  have  come.  If  the 
Cossacks  had  felt  inclined,  they  might  have 
attacked  us  on  the  road  halfway  from  Viaz- 
ma to  Gjatz." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Rasinski, 
smiling  a  nod  of  approval  at  the  sound  judg- 
ment of  the  man. 

"  By  the  Blessed  Virgin,  Colonel,"  replied 
Bliski,  with  animation,  "  I  almost  wish  they 
had  tried,  I  owe  them  something  yet  for  this 
wound  above  tlie  eye,  and  the  cut  on  my 
arm!  But  who  knows  !  we  may  meet  them 
at  Darogobuge  !" 

"  Why  there  ?"  demanded  Rasinski ; 
though  he  very  well  knew  why. 

"Because  the  main-road  from  Kalouga 
there  crosses  the  road  to  Smolensko.  We 
shall  have  something  to  do  there,  I  think." 

"  Wli^t  is  the  distance  between  Kalouga 
and  Darogobuge  ?" 

"  About  a  hundred  and  eighty  versts." 

"  And  is  the  road  good  ?" 

"  That  depends  upon  the  season ;  now 
probably  passable  on  the  higher,  and  miry  on 
the  lower  ground.  When  it  snows,  how- 
ever, it  is  the  best  sleishincr  route  in  the 
whole  Empire."  "  • ' 

"  But  it  looks  not  like  snow  yet." 

"  Who  knows,  Colonel  ?  The  season  has 
come,  and  that  fruit  will  ripen  as  surely  as 
plums  in  autumn."  ^ 

"  Well,  Bliski,  return  to  your  comrades ; 


P 


% 


■T.'V 


900 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ^ND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


■* 


I  know  now  what  I  wanted  to  learn.  Yon 
are  acquainted  with  the  conntry,  and  will 
find  the  way  when  I  want  you." 

•'  Never  fear,  sir,"  answered  Bliski  with 
flashing  eyes.  "I  could  find  the  way  from 
here  to  Madrid."  He  then  joined  his  com- 
rades. 

The  road  warping  somewhat,  and  there 
bcinor  no  longer  woods  alongside,  it  was  easy 
to  notice  a  dark  crowd  of  people  in  advance, 
who  seemed  to  be  very  busy.  At  the  same 
time  wagons  were  driven  into  the  field. 

"Another aw^o-da-/e  .'"  said  Bernard,  laugh- 
ing as  he  turned  to  his  friends.  "  More 
horses  for  the  artillery,  it  seems." 

The  hurry  and  tumult  as  they  rode  up  to 
this  spot  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole 
■Regiment.  The  sun  shone  brightly — sud- 
denly its  dazzling  rays  were  thrown  back 
from  the  middle  of  the  crowd  of  people  as- 
sembled. 

"  That  is  the  cross  of  St  Ivan  !"  cried 
Bernard,  instantly  recalling  to  his  minli  the 
occurrence  at  Moscow. 

A  large  pond  was  visible  near  the  road 
into  which  numerous  persons  were  busily 
employed    casting  the  contents  of  the  bag- 

Sige-carts.  They  beheld  the  trophies  col- 
cted  at  Moscow  thrown  into  the  lake. 
Costly  ornaments,  taken  from  the  magnifi- 
cent palaces,  curious  cannon  which  the  Rus- 
sians had  captured  in  their  Eastern  wars,  and 
finally,  the  great  Cross  of  St.  Ivan  itself,  were 
relentlessly  flung  into  the  muddy  element. 

A  keen,  icy  wind  arose  towards  evening. 
Though  the  tired  warriors  lay  down  close  to 
the  fires,  their  limbs,  not  turned  towards  the 
fire,  were  stiffened  with  cold. 

"The  day  dawns  late,"  said  Bernard  to 
Louis,  as  soon  as  they  got  on  the  march. 
"  The  sky  must  be  overclouded,  for  no  star 
can  be  seen.  How  did  the  night  agree  with 
you?" 

"  It  was  really  a  severe  night;  every  day 
adds  to  the  hardships,"  replied  Louis. 

The  day  duwned'omlnously  fortlie  retreat- 
ing army  —  heavy  banks  of  clouds  rested 
above — the  horizon  appeared  every  moment 
to  increase  in  volume  and  density.  The  fog 
hovered  close  over  the  pine  forests  alojg  the 
road,  and  nearly  touched  the  tops  of  the  tall- 
est trees.     It  gradually  began  to  fall. 

"  We  may  still  hope  to  enjoy  a  clear  day," 
said  Louis  to  Rasinski. 

"  Truly,"  answered  the  latter ;  although 
well  knowing  the  difference  between  a  Ger- 
man and  a  Russian  winter,  he  believed  the 
contrary. 

The  log  did  not  pass  into  rain,  nor  disperse 
before  the  rising  sun,  hut  curled  itself  along 
the  skirts  of  the  woodsi.  For  a  time  there 
w^s  a  marked  stillness  in  the  atmosphere, 
bnt  shortly  the  cold  increased,  and  the  wind 


commenced  blowing  afresh.  Suddenly  tfta 
fog  seemed  to  dissolve — large  flakes  of  snow 
began  to  fall,  and  before  time  was  had  to  re- 
cover from  surprise  at  the  change,  the  whole 
air  was  filled  with  this  harbinger  of  winter. 

In  sullen  humor  the  troops  held  on  their 
way.  The  field  appeared  in  a  few  minutes 
to  be  changed  into  a  rigid,  traceless,  unbound- 
ed ocean  ; — and  how  would  they  be  able  to 
trace  their  path  over  this  desert,  where  no 
sun,  no  star,  no  distant  mountain  or  tower 
could  be  discovered,  and  no  road  was  discern- 
ible ?  Those  warriors  who  had  marched  from 
the  Pyramids  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tagus — 
from  the  mountains  of  Calabria  to  the  roar- 
ing Belt — from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  foot  of 
the  Ural — in  constant  battles,  and  defying 
all  dangers — those  warriors  felt  now,  for  the 
first  time,  the  vision  of  fear  haunting  their 
hearts. 

The  masses  of  snow  became  more  and 
more  heavy.  Not  satisfied  with  those  which 
it  shook  from  the  clouds,  the  storm  also  stir- 
red up  those  on  the  ground,  and  whirled 
them  in  the  faces  of  the  soldiers.  Drifting 
over  hill  and.  plain,  it  filled  the  whole  valley 
through  which  the  road  ran. 

"  One  would  think  that  the  feet  of  so  many 
thousands  would  soon  make  a  hard  path," 
said  Louis,  "  but  before  us  we  find  no  foot- 
track,  and  behind  us  we  leave  none — so  rap- 
idly are  they  effaced  by  the  storm." 

The  line  was  checked.  At  first  Rasinski 
thought  it  was  only  a  momentary  delay. — 
Soon,  however,  he  perceived  that  a  serious 
obstacle  must  have  been  met  with — for  the 
halt  lasted  too  long.  At  length  an  adjutant, 
who,  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  had  worked 
himself  and  horse  through  the  snow,  ap- 
proached Rasinski. 

"  I  bring  you  the  order,  Colonel,  forthwith 
to  send  half  the  horses  of  your  regiment  to 
the  aid  of  the  artillery.  They  can't  get  for- 
ward ;  before  us  is  a  defile  where  the  snow 
is  heaped  up  to  the  height  of  a  man." 

"Mast  my  men  dismount?"  inquiredRa- 
sinski,  both  surprised  and  alarmed. 

"  It  is  a  hard  necessity,  but  the  same  or- 
der is  going  through  all  the  regiments.   Even 
the  Emperor's  Guard  are  required  to  resign^ 
their  horses  and  walk.  Saddles  and  baggage 
remain — the  soldiers^  can  follow  them." 

Rasinski  saw  that  there  was  no  help  for 
this  state  of  things ;  still  it  cost  him  a  hard 
struggle  to  deprive  his  men,  unaccustomed 
to  walk,  of  their  horses.  He  betrayed,  how- 
ever, no  dissatisfaction.  Without  delay  he 
otdered  the  first  and  second  squadrons  to 
wheel  by  sections  to  (he  right,  and  desired 
them  to  ride  out  from  the  regiment  into  the 
road.  They  were  then  broken  into  half-sec- 
tions, and  ^llowed  the  adjutant  at  the  head 
of  them,  under  Rasinski's  command.     Tbey 


k    ■  #^ 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


aad  to  put  their  horses  tweive-by-twelve  to 
the  guns  of  the  nearest  division,  which  in  the 
confusion  could  be  done  only  with  ropes  and 
miserable  fragments  of  harness.  The  sol- 
diers walked  by  th<eir  sides. 

"  You  do  the  work  to-day,"  said  Rasinski ; 
"  to-morrow  your  comrades  will  do  it." 

Bernard  and  Louis  belonged  to  the  first 
squadron ;  they  would  also  have  given  up  their 
steeds,  but  retained  them,  because  they  were 
appointed  by  Rasinski  to  serve  as  his  orderly 
officers.  Both  of  them  were  aware  that  the 
time  wfts  past  when  preference  was  possi- 
ble even  if  allowed.  The  strong  law  of  ne- 
cessity, which  equalizes  all  conditions,  would 
soon  be  put  into  force.  A  few  such  days 
more,  and  there  were  only  comrades — no  lon- 
ger officers  and  soldiers.  They  therefore 
rode  up  to  Rasinski,  asking  his  permission  to 
share  the  fatigues  of  their  fellow  soldiers. 

"  Would  that  I  could  obviate  it,"  he  re- 
plied ;  "  but  it  is  a  fact  that  to-morrow  you 
would  be  obliged  to  do  what  you  wish  to  do 
to-day,  you  are  right." 

Riding  instantly  to  the  head  of  the  column, 
they  reported  themselves  to  the  artillery  offi- 
cer in  command  of  the  division.  He  directed 
them  to  aid  in  putting  their  horses  to  a  how- 
itzer— the  exhausted  team  which  had  dragged 
it  being  in  the  greatest  want  of  an  additional 
force. 

In  this  way  it  was  just  possible  for  the 
artillery  to  advance  ;  but  the  difficulty  was 
great,  for  the  wheels  sunk  to  the  axles  in  the 
snow,  while  the  snow  and  earth  together 
formed  a  mass  of  mire  which  adhered  with 
great  tenacity  to  the  wheels.  The  sounds 
of  lashings  and  execrations  rose  high  above 
the  tumultuous  throng  ;  and  although  twenty 
or  thirty  horses  were  attached  to  some  of  the 
guns,  the  aid  of  many  men  was  requisite  to 
force  them  forward. 

After  some  time,  fatigue  completely  over- 
powered both  man  and  beast.  Discipline  in 
the  several  regiments  began  to  disappear, 
and  numbers  of  enfeebled  men  dropped  be- 
hind. Many  no  longer  continued  on  the  road 
— the  tracks  were  lost  in  the  snow  drifts,  and 
each  wanderer  endeavored  to  find  a  better 
way  for  himself ;  thus  it  was  that  as  often  as 
a  hill  was  seen  bared  by  the  blast,  vast  num- 
bers crowded  upon  it  in  the  hope  of  enjoying 
a  brief  respite  from  their  labors.^  Many,  how- 
ever, paid  a  terrible  penalty  ;  for  behind  these 
bills  were  often  deep  chasms  and  precipices, 
which,  deceitfully  filled,  presented  an  appa- 
rent level  with  the  ground.  On  a  sudden, 
men  found  themselves  immersed  to  the  mid- 
dle, or  even  to  the  shoulders ;  others,  blinded 
by  the  drifting  snow,  stumbled  over  their  fal- 
len comrades  and  were  precipitated  deeper 
into  their  wintry  grave.  Thus  was  it  often 
observed  that  three  or  four  men  suddenly  dis- 


appeared beneath  the  snow.  Pew  only  were 
able  to  work  themselves  through ;  the  great-  . 
er  part  lost  their  strength  entirely,  and  the 
musket,  or  the  weapon  with  which  they  en- 
deavored to  help  themselves,  slipped  out  of 
their  frozen  hands.  They  would  rest  a  few  \ 
minutes  to  catch  breath,  but  the  cold  instant- 
ly seized  their  limbs — in  a  faint  voice  they  * 
cried  for  assistance,  but  there  were  none  to 
hear  their  cry,  nor  could  human  aid  reach 
them ;  all  were  suffijrers  or  suppliants,  and 
each  had  enough  to  occupy  all  his  energies. 
When  the  first  victims  fell,  all  hearts  were 
struck  with  pity  and  dismay ;  yet  when  their 
number  increased — when  with  the  approach- 
ing darkness,  hundreds,  and  even  thousands, 
remained  on  the  field,  compassion  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  dread,  and  a  sigh  was  all  that  * 
could  be  spared  for  those  struck  down.  The 
snow,  as  their  winding-sheet — heaven's  white 
shroud — soon  covered  them.  At  first,  a  slight 
elevation  indicated  the  resting-place  of  the 
dead ;  but  in  a  short  time  the  desert  was  even 
again,  and  every  trace  of  a  grave  effaced. 

Night  came,  but  no  stars   were   visible. 
The  heavens,  becoming  more  charged,  inces- 
santly poured  down  the  icy  destruction.  The 
violence  of  the  storm  increased,  and  the  eye    . 
could  scarcely  discover  a  path  for  the  uncer-^ ' 
tain  foot ;  all  who  strayed  aside,  or  lagged     ^ 
behind,  disappeared  in  the  profound  darkness. 
Whosoever  fell  was  soon  swallowed  up  in 
the  deep-bedded  snow — their  dying  eyes  last 
opened    on    the    darkness  of   that    fearful 
night. 

Around  and  within  Dorogobuge  the  army 
encamped  ^  after  this  terrible  day.  With 
bruised  and  stiffened  limbs,  the  soldiers 
reached  their  resting-place.  To  the  weary, 
the  sick,  and  the  wounded,  every  step  had 
been  a  torture  ;  and  yet  the  tBoublesome  pre-  . 
parations  for  the  bivouac  were  now  to  be 
made,  and  straw  and  food  for  the  horses,  and 
wood  and  provisions  for  themselves,  to  be  pro- 
cured. With  his  accustomed  zeal  and  activi- 
ty, Rasinski  had  succeeded  in  securing  a 
miserable  house,  which  gave  shelter  at  least 
to  half  of  his  men.  He  remained  outside 
himself,  by  persuasion  and  example  to  en- 
courage the  wearied  soldiers  to  complete 
their  work  for  the  day  by  cutting  wood, 
bringing  provisions,  and  clearing  the  snow 
from  the  place  where  they  were  to  sleep. 
With  sorrow  he  found,  however,  that  fifteen 
of  his  solcliers  were  missing.  He  entertained 
no  hopes  of  seeing  them  again.  In  addition 
to  this,  twenty-three  horses  had  died.  Where 
would  it  end?  The  darker  coming  events 
appeared,  the  more  Rasinski  felt  the  necessi- 
ty of  showing  an  unclouded  front  to  the  pres- 
ent^that  they  who  derived  their  courage  from 
bis  might  not  look  up  to  him  in  vain.  He 
spoke  kindly  to  them,  consoled  them,  and  ak- 


*i': 


\ 


i 


■a 


Jf 


#     • 


909 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


rf 


horted  them  to  observe  order  and  keep  their 
courage  undaunted. 

The  firm,  confident  tone  of  his  words,  the 

undeniable  truth  of  them,  and  his  clear  brow 

restored  the  hope  of  even  tlie  most  despond- 

4i     ing ;  and  thus  trust  and  fidelity  flourished 

even  in  their  hour  of  distress. 

Some  men  approached,  carrying  fresh-cut 
A  wood,  and  a  spot  was  cleared  from  the  snow, 
on  which  a  fire  was  built.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  it  caught,  as  the  wood  was 
young  and  wet ;  but  after  an  hour  that  embar- 
rassment was  also  conquered,  and  through 
the  foresight  of  Rasinski — there  being  some 
provisions  at  hand,  which  he  sparingly  but 
equally  divided  among  them — ^the  over-wea- 
ried soldiers  were  partially  recruited. 
,  Louis  was  exhausted  to  the  last  degree ; 
*"  the  thought,  however,  of  his  lonely  sister,  and 

her  inconsolable  grief  in  case  he  should  be 
lost,  had  given  his  weak  frame  strength  to 
endure  the  hardships  under  which  he  often 
believed  he  should  sink  ;  and  perhaps  would, 
if  Bernard  with  his  energetic  temperament 
had  not  faithfully  supported  him.  How  would 
it  be  when  these  trials  were  redoubled  ?  He 
^  trembled  inwardly  at  the  thought,  which  could 
not  be  wholly  suppressed. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 


Sbiolknsko,  "the  promised  land,"  lay  at 
last  before  the  gaze  of  the  exhausted  soldiers. 
Its  dark  pinnacles  and  towers  rose  gloomily 
above  thef  white  fields  of  Ivan.  There  lay 
the  promised  shelter  from  the  raging  ele- 
ments— there,  food  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of 
that  hunger  now  preying  upon  its  own  vitals 
— there  warmth  for  the  frozen  limbs — there 
rest  for  the  weary,  strength  for  the  fee- 
ble, and  a  new  life  for  the  exhausted  in  mind 
and  body. 

The  ten  thousand  Greeks  did  not  again 
gaze  upon  the  blue  waters  of  the  Ar- 
chipelago with  more  rapture,  nor  did  the 
storm-worn  crew  of  Christopher  Columbus 
pour  out  their  warm  thanks  to  the  Almighty 
for  their  success  with  more  fervent  gratitude, 
than  did  these  unhappy  men,  whwi  they  at 
length  caught  sight  of  the  haven  which 
would  put  an  end  to  their  miseries.  Exulta- 
tion was  visible  on  their  pale,  thin  faces  ;  and 
a  last  spark  of  courage  and  strength  light- 
ed up  even  in  the  weakest  and  most  weary 
hearts. 

The  advanced  guard  was  already  within 
an  hour's  march  of  the  walls  of  the  lortressr 
when  from  both  sides  of  the  road  stragglers 
began  to  appear.     Singly,  and  in  small  par- 


ties at  first,  bat  soon  in  larger  bodies,  these  i* 

starved  spectres,  no  longer  maintaining  the        - 
appearance  of  soldiers,  rejoined  the  line. 
These  were  the  men  who  had  lost  or  thrown 
away  their  arms — who  had  broken  all  ties  of 
discipline  and  obedience ;  and  entertaining  ^ 

the  hope  that  alone,  sdecting  their  own  road, 
and  following  their  own  will,  they  would  bet- 
ter secure  their  safety — had  dared  to  plunge 
into  the  unknown  wilderness  in  search  of 
that  shelter  and  food  which  they  had  found 
was  denied  to  them  while  remaining  with 
their  regiments.  Thus  they  wandered  by 
hundreds  like  gangs 'of  robbers,  and  hovered 
about  the  army,  in  front,  in  rear,  and  on  the 
flanks. 

'i^he  wild  Btare  of   hunger   gleamed    in       J| 
their  rapacious  eyes,  already  inflamed  with 
disease  or  begrimmed  with  dirt  and  smoke  ^ 
filthy  rags  alone  covered  the  emaciated  bo-  f^ 

dies  of  these  marauders,  who  like  harpies  * 
grasped  at  and  defended  everything  within 
their  reach.  No  persuasion  could  restrain, 
no  force  control  a  ferocity  that  bordered  oft 
insanity.-  Wheresoever  they  found  aught 
that  could  be  eaten,  they  fell  upon  it  like 
beasts  of  prey,  and  devoured  it  in  so  furious 
a  haste,  that  many  fell  choked  to  the  ground  < 

and  expired.    No  example,  however,  could  - 

deter  those  who  came  after  ;  in  a  state  of  de- 
lirium they  rushed  into  the  same  danger,  not- 
withstanding their  comrades  had  perished  be- 
fore their  eyes.  The  bowlings  and  groanings 
of  the  dying  made  no  impression,  nor  was  a 
glance  of  compassion  cast  upon  them.  Each 
recognised  himself  alone,  and  the  present 
moment,  as  the  only  period  of  life. 

These  terrible  marauders  appeared   sud-  * 
denly,  as  accident  sooner  or  later  brought 
them  to  the  road  from  the  nearest  forests 
through  which  they  had  made  their  way.  At 
a  short  distance  from  the  city  the  crowds  be- 
came so  large  that  the  regiments  of  the  "  Old"  • 
and  "Young"  Guard  that  yet  maintained  some 
discipline  were  alone,  and  with  difficulty,  ena-  * 
bled  to  penetrate.     The  sides  of  the  valley, 
which  here  forms  the  bed  of  the  Bnieper, 
drew  nearer  to  a  point  and  contracted  the 
space  of  the  road.    On  both  sides,  these  va- 
gabonds made  their  appearance,  endeavoring 
to  clamber  down  the  slopes,  covered  with 
snow  and  ice,  and  reach  the  road.     As  they 
rushed  down,  numbers  slipped  or  stahibled 
and  rolled  over,  reddening  the  snow  with  the 
blood  from  their  hands  and  faces,  which  were  -  ~ 
lacerated  by  the  sharp  ice.     The  cries  of  '' 
these  miseraWe  beings  as  they  fell,  unable 
again  to  rise,  were  unheard  or  unheeded. 

The  gales  of  the  wty  were  now  visible. — 
Even  among  the  Old  Guard,  a  military  corps 
consolidated  by  the  strictest  discipline,  order 
could  no  longer  be  fully  preservea ;  numbers 
like  hungry  tigers  rushed  from  the  ranks  to  * 


\  * 


\    .^.wi- 


NAPOiSEON'S  INTASiaN  OF  RUSSIA. 


sat 


be  the  first  t»  reach  the  place  of  refuge.  And 
the  temptation  and  the  evil  were  the  greater 
since  many  of  those  gangs  of  stapving 
wretches,  who  had  traversed  the  forests  as 
deserters  and  plunderers,  had  already  reached 
the  walls  of  the  <;ity  and  thronged  about  them 
in  the  wildest  confusion. 

For  hours  many  of  these  wretches,  rigid 
with  cold,  and  tormented  with  hunger,  had, 
under  the  very  walls  of  tlieir  refuge,  vainly 
implored  the  mercy  of  those  within,  who  had 
with9ut  pity  closed  the  gates  of  the  place. 

Tlie  marching  troops  heard  these  dreadful 
bowlings  for  food,  mingled  as  they  were  with 
heart-rending  cries  of  agony.  Under  a  like 
apprehension  of  perishing,  they  rushed  forth 
from  their  linetftnd  endeavored,  as  ^uch  as 
their  weakened  strength  would  permit,  to  get 
the  start  of  each  other.  In  vain  Marshal 
Bessieres  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  those 
who  ceased  to  obey — in  vain  the  officers  en- 
deavored to  restrain  them  by  force.  The  tu- 
mult threatened  to  spread  throughout  the 
whole  column,  when  suddenly  the  Emperor 
appeared  in  front,  and  by  a  sign  commanded 
a  halt.  Respect  for  the  sacred,  person  of  their 
great  chief,  in  whom  they  put  their  last  con- 
fidence during  these  times  of  distress,  brought 
even  the  roost  daring  back  to  their  senses. 

"  Soldiers,  return  to  your  ranks  !"  he  said 
ia  an  austere  voice.  He  was  instantly 
obeyed. 

He  now  rode  forward  at  the  head  of  the 
troops  himself,  and  in  mournful  silence,  and 
preserving  the  strictest  order,  the  soldiers 
marched  into  the  town. 

Rasinski  with  his  regiment  followed  im^ 
mediately  after  the  Old  Guard.  Only  half 
were  on,  horseback :  the  others-  walking,  while 
their  horses  tugged  in  front  at  the  gun-car- 
riages. As  they  rode  over  the  ridge  of  the 
valley,  Louis  pointed  with  his  hand  across 
the  field,  saying  to  Bernard — 

"  Do  you  remember  that  castle  yonder  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Bernard,  "  I  thought  it  was 
%urnt  down :  it  stands  tolerably  safe  on  its 
legs  yet. 

"  I  hardly  know  why,  bat  I  feel  singularly 
towards  that  venecable  pile,  with  its  towers 
and  pinnacles,"  said  Louie. 

"  The  same  with  me  ;  and  we  are,  I  believe, 
less  easily  recognised  than  the  castle: for 
wh^  I  look  at  yoilr  long  beard  and  the  black 
lines  of  smoke  in  your  face,  I  can  easily 
^  imagine-  my  own  appearance.  It  would  be 
worth  while  to  have  our  likenesses  taken,  to 
show  the  people  of  Germany  and  France 
what  a  figure  the  victorious  French  army 
cut  on  its  second  visit  to  Smolensko." 

"Be  comforted,  friends,"  said  Rasinski, 
leaning  back; "  a  time  of  rest  will  come :  we 
shall  then  find  opportunities  of  appearing 
•  more  to  our  taste. ' 

They  rode  now  through  the  gate  of  the 


upper  town ;  the  eastern  past  is  situate  oa 
the  height,  and  llie  western  below  on  the  op- 
posite bank  of  the  Dnieper.  While  travers- 
ing tl^  street,  they  looked  ominously  at  each 
other. 

"  Truly,"  said  Bernard,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
Louis,  "  Smolensko  does  not  look  much  like 
proving  our  Capua." 

"  If  the  whole  town  is  as  desolate,"  an- 
swered Louis,  "  it  will  not  offer  us  more  to 
eat  than  the  road  on  which  we  came  hither.'* 

"  I  don't  understand  how  we  shall  ever  be 
able  to  boll  even  an  ounce  of  rice  here," 
whispered  Bernard.  "  Look  ! — the  window- 
frames  are  all  broken  out.  Every  small  piece 
of  wood  has  been  seized." 

"  And  yet,  I  think  we  had  better  take  pos- 
session in  time,"  answered  Louis  ; "  for  when 
those  wretches  shall  have  forced  an  entrance 
tliere  will  not  one  stone  be  left  on  another." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  replied  Rasinski,  who  had 
heard  the  whole  conversation ;  "  and  I  am 
determined  without  delay  to  carry  tlie  right 
of  the  first  occupant  into  efiect :  yet,  I  hope 
to  find  the  lower  town  in  a  better  cwadition." 

"  Those  carcasses  yonder,"  said  Bernard^ 
pointing  to  a  by-lane, "  promise  nothing  good. 
To  me  they  appear  exactly  as  if  the  flesh 
only  but  half-an-hour  ago  had  been  torn  <^. 
However  poor  my  steed  is,  I  would  not  dare 
to  tie  him  up  here  ;  ten  minutes,  and  I  would 
hardly  find  anything  but  bones  in  his  place." 

"  There  must  be  abundance  of  provisions," 
observed  Rarfnski,  "  or  the  orders  of  the  Em- 
peror have  been  wofully  neglected." 

An  adjutant  interrupted  the  conversation 
by  traopnitting  an  order  to  turn  to  the 
right,  where  the  quarters  of  the  cavalry  were 
fixed. 

With  the  small  number  yet  surrounding 
him,  Rasinski  led  the  way  thrcmgh  a  crook- 
ed, half-destroyed  lane,  and  reached  an  open 
place  where  a  few  large  sUxie  buildings, 
which  probably  had  been  used  for  ware- 
houses, afforded  stables  for  the  horses  in 
the  lower  parts,  and  q^uarters  for  the  men 
overhead.  Even  there  the  houses  were 
round  totally  empty,  in  the  upper  parts  only 
remained  a  ^Vindow-frame  here  and  there  ; 
the  doors  had  been  lifted  off  their  hinges,  the 
planks  torn  up  from  the  floors.  J^totwith- 
standing,  these  half<lestrc^ed  buildings  af- 
forded a  dry  shelter,  and  if  they  could  only 
procure  wood  and  provisions,  and  straw  and 
feed  for  their  horses,  the  halt  there  seemed 
to  promise  a  tiote  of  luxury  in  comparison 
with  their  former  exigent  state. 

In  a  few  minutes  their  quarters  were  oc- 
cupied and  the  horses  put  into  the  stables. 
Rasinski 's  indefatigable  care  had  been  at- 
'  tended  with  such  good  results  that  since  the 
day  at  Dorogobuge  he  had  kept  all  his  men 
but  a  few  who  had  died  of  exhaustion.  It 
now  bec»me  his  first  duty  to  dispatch  Bolea- 


1.1^..  JSi> 


SOI 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR. 


Itms  for  the  rations  and  Jaromir  for  horso 
feed,  each  accompanied  by  a  proper  number 
of  men. 

Boleslaus  took  twelve,  and  started  for  the 
magazines.  Here  he  found  an  indescribable 
tumult.  No  sooner  had  it  been  made  known 
that  provisions  were  stored  there,  than  the 

•  hungry  soldiers  and  marauders,  like  a  horde 
of  wolves  round  a  carcass,  thronged  the 
doors  and  filled  the  air  with  their  cries  and 
bowlings.  Several  succeeded,  in  spite  of 
the  sentries,  in  breaking  open  the  doors,  when 
in  blind  voracity  they  rushed  upon  the  sup- 
plies and  devoured  them  raw.  In  this  most 
found  their  death  ;  and  what  nad  been  suffi- 
cient for  saving  hundreds  \^s  uselessly 
wasted,  to  satisfy  the  furious  desires  of  a 
few.  Though  fearful  the  extremity,  it  be- 
came necessary  to  put  an  end  to  this  lawless 
violence.  The  Inspectors  of  the  magazines 
were  obliged  to  call  up  regular  troops,  with 
bayonets  and  swords,  to  keep  their  own  com- 
rades off.  The  tumultuous  crowds  were 
fired  upon  and  dispersed  ;  they  left  the  ground 
covered  with  dead. 

Through  this  frightful  scene  Boleslaus 
had  to  make  his  way ;  he  performed  his 
duty  with  earnest,  but  at  the  same  time  with 
4|itbe  most  painful  feelings.  Even  those  who 
were  authorised  to  receive  provisions  were 
so  numerous,  that  hours  passed  away  before 
he  could  obtain  what  he  was  entitled  to.  It 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  upon 
receiving  his  supplies  he  reached  the  quar- 
ters of  the  regiment. 

Jaromir  had  been  luckier,  for  at  the  maga- 
zines of  horse-feed  the  crowds  had  not  been 
so  large. 

As  soon  as  Boleslaus  made  his  report,  Ra- 
sinski  shook  his  head,  saying, 

"  These  are  critical  signs  !  We  shall  not 
be  able  to  stay  here  long — wo  must  exert 
ourselves  manfully  if  we  expect  ever  to 
reach  the  confines  of  Poland.  Under  such 
a  totaj  absence  of  discipline,  a  resolute 
atta4;k  would  destroy  us.  I  sent  Bernard 
and  Louis  to  procure  ammunition  ;  but  few 
regiments  had  applied  before  them.  When 
the  soldier  no  longer  thinks  of  defence,  what 
0  may  not  be  the  result?  Even  to  receive 
their  pay  not  a  third  have  appeared." 

"  Give  them  only  two  days  to  refresh  them- 
selves ;  they  will  then  be  more  accessible  to 
admonition,  and  \vill  return  to  obedience !" 
said  Boleslaus. 

"  Will  it  not  then  be  too  late  ?  Have  they 
not  thrown  away  their  arms  ?  Are  they  not 
already  an  incumbrance  to  the  obedient  and 
willing,  without  doing  anything  for  their 
own  support  or  delivery  ?  The  Emperor 
must  be  enraged  at  such  conduct." 

Jaromir,  Bernard  and  Louis  came  in  from 
the  stables. 

••  It  is  the  first  time  the  horses  have  been 


really  well  fed  since  we  left  Moscow,'''  saH 
Jaromir.  "  By  well  fed,  I  mean  that  we 
have  given  them  half  chaff,  half  hay,  and 
together  not  the  third  of  the  usual  allow- 
ance ;  yet  one  can  see  how  the  animals  rel- 
ish it !"  * 

"  Well,  then  let  us  think  of  ourselves," 
said  Rasinski.  "  For  a  long  time  it  is  the 
first  repast  we  have  taken  together,  sitting 
under  a  roof." 

After  the  repast, their  fatigues  soon  closed 
their  eye-Hds— undisturbed  by  the  pain  of 
stiffened  limbs  or  those  half-roasted  by  their 
too  near  proximity  to  the  fire. 


CHAPTER   LXV.      -• 

It  was  bright  day  when  they  awoke ;  but 
perhaps  they  would  have  rested  longer,  had 
not  hunger  awakened  them.  Fortunately 
they  could  this  time  satisfy  it.  Rasinski 
left  to  try  if  it  were  possible  to  procure  suffi- 
cient food  for  the  residue  of  their  march. 

During  his  absence  Regnard  visited  their 
quarters  and  informed  them  that  a  general 
had  been  arrested  at  Paris,  Mallet  by  name, 
who  had  been  endeavoring  to  raise  a  revolt 
by  forged  testimonials  of  the  Emperor's 
death ;  and  that  although  the  new  dynasty 
had  survived  its  birth  only  a  few  hours,  yet 
the  news  of  it  had  made  a  deep  impression 
on  the  Emperor,  who  exclaimed  to  Count 
Daru  : 

"  What  if  we  had  remained  at  Moscow !" 

"  Is  this  the  intelligence  which  has  just 
arrived?"  inquired  Bernard. 

"  At  Dorogobuge  the  Emperor  had  already 
received  the  dispatches,"  continued  Regnard, 
"  but  he  thought  it  necessary  to  keep  them 
secret.  It  is  said,  too,  that  bad  news  is  in 
from  the  rear.  At  Viazma  a  severt  engage- 
ment has  been  fought,  in  which  we  have 
lost  many  men.  Prince  Beauhamais  was 
obliged  to  leave  half  his  artillery  and  all  the 
baggage  at  the  swollen  Vop,  over  which  he 
could  not  effect  his  passage  -with  sufficient 
rapidity.  But  fortunately,  it  did  not  faU  a 
prey  to  the  Cossacks,  for  it  was  all  destroyed 
by  being  blown  up.  But  the  rear  divisions 
are  reported  to  have  suffered  dreadfully, 
which  is  credible  enough  when  we  consider 
what  we  ourselves  have  lost  by  hunger  and 
cold  !  Those  marching  after  us 'must  have 
found  less  than  we  ourselves,  and  have  also 
had  to  defend  themselves  from  the  enemy." 

Jaromir  had  silently  retired  while  Regnard 
spoke ;  amid  such  desolation  and  misery, 
the  fortunes  of  Alisette  were  not  indifferent 
to  him.    He  felt  pity  for  the  unfortunate, 


M 


#. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


20^ 


«■■*.■ 


whos0  indiscretion  would  now  be  so  fearfully 
punished.  During  these  last  days  his  extra- 
ordinary exertions  and  sufferings  had  insen- 
sibly but  powerfully  drawn  his  thoughts 
away  from  the  grief  on  which  it  ordinarily 
*  meditated.  But  a  brief  hour  of  rest  and  re- 
lief had  arrived,  and  immediately  this  old 
enerny  revived  within  him. 

Bernard  and  Louis  followed  Regnard 
down  into  the  street.  The  parties  had  be- 
come well  acquainted  with  each  other  since 
the  commencement  of  their  disastrous  retreat 
from  Malo-Jaroslawetz.  They  now  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time  since  that  day  an  opportu- 
nity of  changing  their  clothes  and  making 
their  persons  comfortable. 

The  shoes  of  the  men  having  wholly  given 
out,  on  Bernard  and  Louis,  was  imposed 
the  task  of  repairing  to  the  depots  to  obtain  a 
fresh  supply.  Ou  this  errand  they  set  out 
with  but  precarious  chances. 

Arrived  at  the  depot,  they  soon  came  up 
with  two  commissaries,  who  stood  with  their 
backs  towards  them.  Hearing  the  sound  of 
approaching  steps^,  these  turned  about — to-  the 
amazement  not  only  of  the  strangers  them- 
selves, but  also  of  Louis  and  Bernard. 

"  Ah  !  met  once  more  1"  said  the  young- 
est coinmissary,  rubbing  his  hands,  while  a 
sinister  smile  stole  over  his  features.  In  the 
strangers,  Louis  and  Bernard  recognised 
Beaucaire  and  St.  Luces  ! 

'•Gen  d'armes'"  called  Beaucaire,  be- 
fore Louis  could  utter  a  word,  "  arrest  these 
men  instantly  and  take  them  to  the  guard ! 
They  are  traitors  that  have  sold  themselves 
to  Russia  I" 

It  was  only  by  these  words  that  Bernard 
discovered  whp  he  had  before  him  y  for  he 
had  spoken  to  Beaucaire  in  Dresden  but  a 
few  minutes  in  the  street,  and  though  his 
physiognomy  had  impressed  itself  upon  his 
memory,  the  vast  differerice  in  his  present 
appearance  had  for  a  moment  confused  his 
otherwise  acccurate  ken.  In  an  instant 
rage  took  possession  of  his  faculties. 

"  Thou  liest,  villain !"  he  "exclaimed  in 
great  excitement,  and  stepping  bltek  a  pace 
or  two  be  drew  his  sword.  "  Whoever  ap- 
proaches me,  i  will  instantly  pass  this  sabre 
through  his  b^^dy !" 

Louis  also  soon  perceived  that  resolute 
action  furi^islied  the  only  chance  of  escape, 
in  a  twinkling  lie  bestowed  a  powerful  kick 
upon  the  gen  d'anne,  grasping  bis  arm  and 
threw  him  down  in  the  snow:  the  next  mo- 
ment this  functionary's  sword  was  in  his 
grasp. 

in  the  neighborhood  were  soldiers. 

"  Comrades,  help  !  help !"  cried.  Bernard. 
"  These  rascals,  who  let  us  starve  of  hunger, 
are  about  to  add  murder  to  abuse  and  rob- 
bery!" 


But  as  is  always  the  case  in  excitement, 
these  words  were  uttered  in  a  foreign  tongue. 
They  were,  therefore,  but  imperfectly  under- 
stood; Bernard  was  looked  upon  as  a  for- 
eigner, and  unfortunately,  upon  foreigners  the 
French  soldiers  had  begun  to  look  with  sus- 
picion. They  believed,  and  perhaps  not 
erroneously,  that  their  allies,  especially  the  gk 
Germans,  silently  rejoiced  at  the  misfortunes  ^ 
in  which  the  Emperor  and  his  army  were  in- 
volved. St.  Luces,  adroitly  availing  himself 
of  this  feeling,  called  out  in  French : 

"These  are  German  traitors !— the  paid 
spies  of  Russia !" 

Words  producing  a  fearful  effect !      The 
French  soldiers,  easily  excited,  and  of  a  quick     * 
temperament,  instantly  set  about  attacking 
the  victims  thus  pointed  out  to  their  ven- 
geance.    Bernard  would  not  surrender,  but   * 
Louis  endeavored  to  restrain  him. 

"  Do  not  attempt  violence  ;  we  might  do 
some,  mischief !"  said  he.  "  Rasinski  will 
not  desert  us ;  upon  him  we  must  rely." 

Bernard  continued  to  express  his  indigna- 
tion in  gestures  of  defiance,  and  in  half- 
uttered  execrations. 

.  "  We  are  your  prisoners,  sir,"  said  Louis, 
addressing  himself  to  St.  Luces;  "we  shall 
demand  a  speedy  inquiry  into  this  extraordi-  ^ 
nary  accusation.  We  are  soldiers  of  the 
Polish  array — Count  Rasinski  is  our  com- 
mander ;  he  will  know  how  to  protect  us — 
I  request  that  you  instantly  make  him  ac- 
quainted with  our  arrest."  • 

The  gen  d'armes  took  away  the  young 
men's  swords,  who,  by  the  order  of  St.  Luces, 
were  led  into  the  building.  The  subaltern 
officer  would  have  put  them  into  the  guard- 
room near  the  door,  where  the  magazine 
guard  was  stationed,  but  Beaucaire  inter- 
posed :  * 

"  No  r  they  are  criminals  who  have  for-  . 
felted  their  lives.     They  must  be  put  under 
close  confinement.     Let  it  be  in  one  of  the 
dungeons  near  the  fosse. 

"  Louis,"  said  Bernard,  as  they  walked  to 
their  prison,  "  I  fear  we  have  been  very  fool-      ♦ 
ish  in  neglecting  either  weapons  or  flight. 
Who  knows  if  Rasinski  will  ever  learn  what 
has  become  of  us  until  too  late  for  interfer-       , 
ence !" 

Louis  seemed  to  be  struck  with  the  truth 
of  this  remark.  His  own  generous  nature 
would  not  allow  him  hastily  to  ascribe  so 
great  malice  even  to  such  an  enemy  as  Beau- 
caire. But  he  recollected  that  perhaps  no 
one  more  than  Beaucaire  had  more  need  of 
avoiding  publicity,  even  in  this  matter ;  he 
thought  of  the  proposals  that  had  been  made 
by  the  wretch  to  his  sister  ;  and  it  became 
fatally  certain  that  baseness  like  this  would 
not  hesitate  to  seek  the  vilest  means  of 
revenge.    He  cast  a  look  at  the  sergeant  of 


im 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


the  gen  d'armes  who  accompanied  them  at 
the  head  of  three  men. 

"  You  are  a  soldier !"  said  Louis  to  the 
man ;  "  you  will  not  refuse  a  comrade  a 
favor?"    , 

"  None   that   my  duty  does   not  forbid," 
said  the  kind-hearted  sergeant. 
.^  "  Wc  are  innocent.     We  are  the  victims 

of  a  malicious  plot.  If  our  Colonel,  Count 
Rasinski,  does  not  hear  of  our  arrest,  we  are 
lost.  Give  me  your  word  you  will  let  him 
know  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  will,  if  my  orders  are  not 
against  it." 

"  He  will  well  recompense  you  for  it ! 
Accept  of  my  thanks  in  advance ;"  and  Louis 
in  his  gratitude  was  about  to  transfer  his 
purse  to  the  hands  of  the  sergeant.  But 
the  man  drew  back  a  pace. 

"  No  bribery,"  said  he,  touching  the  cross 
on  his  breast ;  "  I  shall  do  my  duty  as  a 
friend,  but  as  a  soldier:  away,  witlf  your 
money.  How  can  this  help  us  here  ?  We 
have  plenty  and  to  spare  of  this  useless 
trash !" 

"  You  are  a  man  of  honor.   Let  us  at  least 
shake  hands  in  token  of  friendship  and  ffood 
faith." 
^         The  sergeant  silently  but  honestly  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  Here  we  are  at  the  end  of  x)ur  walk," 
said  he,  and  at  the  same  time  opened  a  door 
bound  ijith  iron,  and  descended  a  flight  of 
stairs,  at  the  bottom  of  which  they  turned 
into  a  passage  on  the  right  hand,  and  ap- 
proached a  second  door,  which  the  sergeant 
unlocked.  Bernard  and  Louis  entered  their 
dismal  prison,  and  the  door  was  instantly 
closed  upon  them. 

It  was  a  damp,  cold  vault — a  small  round 
hole,  about  the  size  df  a  man's  head,  was  the 
only  aperture  for  light  and  ventilation. 

''  What  an  accursed  place,"  murmured 
Bernard — "Cold  as  ice  itself,  and  wet  besides. 
The  chamber  of  Death  !  Only  see ;  the 
^  walls  are  covered  witli  a  tapestry  of  half- 
frozen  vapor  as  thick  as  one's  finger.  Bah  I 
the  smell  of  it  is  poison  !  Are  we  left  to 
make  our  bed  upon  the  naked  floor  ?  Not  a 
place  to  lie  down,  or  materials  for  sleeping. 
It's  a  mercy  of  Heaven  we  have  our  cloaks  ; 
or  we  should  freeze  to  death  before  sun- 
set." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  set  at  liberty  before 
that  time,"  s  tid  Louis,  striving  to  convey  an 
expression  of  hope. 

"  Orestes  i"  e.vclaimed  Bernard.  "  Let  me 
then  be  thy  Pylades."  And  he  embraced 
him  with  a  cordiality  too  ardent  to  admit  a 
doubt  of  its  sincerity. 

An  hour,  and  yet  a  second  elapsed ;  they 
waited  in  vain  to  be  called  before  their 
judges     The  coldness  in  the  damp  vault 


seemed  to  mcrease  every  moment.  Itonnd 
about,  the  walls  were  covered  with  fine 
crystals  of  ice,  and  the  floor  was  even  here 
and  there  covered  with  snow,  as  the  wind 
had  driven  it  in  through  tlw  barred  window. 
Their  weariness  induced  the  prisoners  to  lie 
down  upon  the  stone  floor ;  but  the  cold  soon 
forced  them  to  rise  again.  Only  in  the  con- 
stant exercise  of  walking  could  they  defend 
themselves  against  the  torpidity  of  cold. 
Their  hands  and  feet  were  already  benumbed. 
Thus  passed  hour  after  hour^  it  began  to 
grow  dark.  Louis  became  momentarily 
more  uneasy  ;  Bernard  whistled  away  his 
pains  and  sorrows. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Louis  at  last,  "  Rasinski 
does  not  know  what  has  become  of  us.  Oth- 
erwise we  should  ere  this  have  heard  from 
him." 

"  Time  appears  long  to  us,  my  friend,  in 
this  cage  !  We  have  only  been  a  few  hours 
in  this  place.  Who  knows  what  tedious 
proceedings  must  be  gone  through,  before  he 
can  get  at  us  ?" 

Louis  was  silent ;  grief  pressed  heavily 
upon  him. 

"Good  thought!  I  recollect  something, 
Louis,"  Bernard  suddenly  exclaimed. — 
"  When  the  Terrorists  were  condemned 
by  the  Directory  to  exile  in  Guiana,  I  believe 
among  them  was  a  Collot  d'Herbois,  the  bad 
actor,  but  who,  nevertheless,  succeeded  ad- 
mirably in  enacting  the  part  of  a  tyrant." 
For  the  purpose  of  accustoming  them,  to 
limited  fare  in  the  wilderness,  they  were  fed 
during  the  voyage  on  half-allowance  of 
ship's  rations.  The  poor  wretches  began 
to  roar  out  lustily  for  food.  At  length  the 
captain,  annoyed  by  their  incessant  clamor, 
directed  more  food  to  be  thrown  to  them  to 
stop  their  throats.  So  we  ought  to  do  now — 
thunder  at  the  door  till  somebody  takes  no- 
tice." 

With  this  he  kicked  violently  against  the 
door,  so  that  the  hollow  sound  reached 
through  the  vault.  But  he  fell  back,  ex- 
hausted m  so  useless  an  effort. 

"  FuriOT !"  he  exclaimed,  grinding  his 
teeth  horribly — "  I  did  not  think  of  the  in- 
tolerable pain  of  frozen  feet.  It  felt  as  if 
the  foot  had  come  between  the  hammer  and 
anvil.  But  I  was  rightly  serv'cd.  Patience 
is  wisdom's  true  doctrine,  and  it  is  folly  to 
battle  Avith  our  destiny." 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  bolts  of  the 
outer  door  withdrawn,  and  footsteps  descend- 
ing the  stairs. 

« It  has  done  some  good  after  all !"  said 
Louis,  aroused. 

Full  of  expectation,  both  directed  thtjir 
eyes  towards  the  door.  The  sergeant  enter- 
ed with  his  men. 

"I have  received  orders,  to  lead  you  to 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


907 


your  examination,"  said  he  ; ''  follow  me." 

Accompanied  by  the  soldiers,  they  left  the 
dungeon.  They  were  conducted  through 
the  yard. 

"  Have  you  attended  to  my  request  ?" 
whispered  Louis. 

The  sergeant  returned  a  look  which 
plainly  intimated  silence.  They  were  duly 
ushered  into  a  large  vaulted  roooi.  On  a 
table  at  the  end  of  it  burned  a  Jight.  At 
their  first  entrance  they  almost  swooned, 
for  the  room  being  very  highly  heated,  and 
they  themselves  nearly  frozen,  the  sudden 
change  proved  too  powerful  to  support.  The 
ii  sergeant,  remarking  it,  ordered  them  to  sit 
down  upon  a  bench  by  the  wall,  and  to 
remain  there  until  he  returned.  Leaving 
the  three  men  to  guard  them,  he  entered  an 
adjoining  room. 

"  Have  you  not  a  morsel  of  bread,  com- 
rades ?"    said    Bernard ;    "  we   are  almost 
.  fainting  with  hunger." 

One  of  the  men  pulled  a  piece  of  black 
bread  from  his  pocket,  broke  it  in  two,  and 
handed  it  to  Bernard. 

"  Take  it,"  said  he,  "  but  more  I  cannot 
give  you.  That  was  all  my  ration  to-day, 
and  God  knows  whether  we  shall  get  more 
to-morrow  !" 

At  this  moment  the  sergeant  came  in 
again.  He  saw  Bernard  dividing  the  bread 
with  Louis,  and  demanded, 

"  From  whom  did  you  get  that  bread  ?" 

"  Prom  me,"  said  the  soldier,  firmly,  step- 
ping forth  and  recovering  arms. 

"  Thou  art  a  brave  man,  Cottin,  but  thou 
hast  done  wrong.  I  did  not  wish  to  see  any- 
thing. Do  you  remain  standing  sentry  be- 
fore the  door.  You. others,  down  again  to 
the  guard-room." 

The  soldiers  left  the  room. 

"  I  coiild  not  execute  your  commission  in 
time,"   said  the   (lergeant,   now   accosting 


Louis 


"  for  Count  Rasinski    had  orders 


With  his  Polish  Lancers  forthwith  to  join 
the  corps  of  Marshal  Ney.  He  had  been 
gone  two  hours,  when  I  went  to  s^k  him." 

Stunning  news  for  the  unhappy  listeners  ! 
The  prisoners  both  turned  deadly  pale.  At 
this  moment  a  bell  rung  in  the  adjoining 
room. 

"  I  must  lead  you  in,"  said  the  sergeant, 
to  Louis ;  "  you  are  the  firet  to  be  heard." 

"Bernard,"  said  Louis,  turning  to  his 
friend,  "thou  canst  save  thyself;  promise 
me  that  thou  art  willing  to  do  so.  If  1  am 
here  to  be  made  a  vi(;tim,  consider  that  thou 
must  be  the  brother  of  my  sister." 

"  Keep  thy  head   above   water,  friend !" 

replied  Bernard — but  he  failed  to  catch  the 

offered  hand  of  Louis.     "  Who  will  condemn 

iiee  ?    Yield  not  an  inch  to  any  one  of 

hem."      . 


"  Away,    away,"    cried    the     sergeant ; 

"  there's  no  time  for  delay." 

Louis  stepped  boldly  forward,  and  reso- 
lutely passed  through  the  room  to  the  pres- 
ence of  his  judges. 

Bernard  remained  alone.  He  stretched 
himself  upon  the  bfinch  to  sleep,  but  he  had 
exacted  too  fnuch  from  his  will.  Heavier  # 
than  the  burthen  of  weariness — that  of  sor-  » 
row  lay  upon  his  soul.  Luckily  for  him,  the 
examination  lasted  not  long ;  for,  within  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  appeared  the  sergeant,  to 
summon  him  also. 

"  What  has  become  of  my  friend  ?"  were 
his  first  wordd. 

"  I  jdo  not  know,"  was  the  answer  ;  and  in 
the  mien  of  the-  austere  soldier  one  could 
read  that  he  woUld  answer  nothing,  whatever 
he  might  know. 

With  a  bold  face  Bernard  walked  into  the 
room.  At  a  long  table  there  sat  St.  Luces 
and  Beaucaire ;  two  younger  men  sat  oppo- 
site to  them,  closely  occupied  in  writing. 

"  We  ought  to  know  each  other,"  said  St. 
Luces,  looking  sharply  at  Bernard. 

"  'Tis  possible,"  replied  Bernard,  "  but  I 
know  not  how  I  came  to  have  that  honor." 

The  contemp^ous  tone  in  which  he  ut- 
tered these  words  gave  them  a  significant 
sense. 

"  Indeed  ! — very  agreeable,  pleasant,  truly. 
Perhaps  this  countenance  also  is  not  quite 
unknown  to  you,"  said  Beaucaire,  raising  an 
object  lying  before  him.  It  was  Bianca's 
portrait,  found  in  Louis'  pocket. 

"  I  drew  it,"  Bernard  carelessly  answered. 

"  I  think  I  remember  that  very  well,"  re- 
marked Beaucaire  ;  "  it  was  probably  at  the 
theatre  in  London." 

These  words  fell  like  a  bright  flash  upon 
Bernard's  heart.  He  looked  sharply  at  Beau- 
caire, and  suddenly  the  darkness  of  his  me- 
mory was  dispelled.  He  had  seen  this  same 
man  sitting  in  the  box  with  Bianca.  All  his 
feelings  were  instantly  enlisted  in  the  hope  of 
soon  hearing  something  touching  the  subject 
that  exerci!«ed  so  deep  an  influence  upon  his  • 
and  Louis"  fortunes.  Forgetting  the  relation 
in  which  he  now  stood  before  Beaucaire,  he 
hurriedly  exclaimed — 

"  Who  is  this  lady  ?  You  ought  to  know, 
sir,  for  you  were  in  her  company." 

Beaucaire  smiled  like  a  demon. 

"  You  see,  Monsieur  St.  Luces,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  party  accosted,  "  we  have  to 
deal  with  fine  people.  The  gentlemen  assume 
their  part  with  great  tact." 

"  Sir  I"  exclaimed  Bernard. 

"  Silence  !"  replied  Beaucaire,  suddenly 
assuming  the  tone  of  a  commander.  "  Do 
you  think  if  it  had  not  seemed  convenient  to 
us  for  other  purposes,  we  should  allow  this 
insolent  tone  in  a  criminal  like  you  ?" 


uv£&^.j(«&k..  ■io.A.^,. 


308 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


■  Bernard's  eye  rolled  wildly.  Not  the  in- 
solence of  Beaucaire,  but  bis  own  rising 
wrath,  bereft  him  for  a  moment  of  speech. 
He  cast  an  anxious  glance  around  the  room, 
as  if  in  search  of  a  weapon.  Beaucaire  as- 
cribed his  silence  to  fear,  and  continued  : 

"  Now,  reply  to  the  questions  I  shall  put 
to  you.  How  came  you  into  the  service  of 
the  Grand  Army  ?" 

Bernard's  first  ebullition  had  subsided.  He 
felt  that  he  must  soar  proudly  above  the  base 
villain  before  him.  This  he  could  not  better 
do  than  by  observing  that  solemn  silence 
which  but  now  had  been  imposed  upon 
him. 

"  Did  you  not  hear  my  question  ?  How 
came  you  in  the  army  ?" 

Bernard  took  a  chair  that  stood  near  by, 
moved  it  forward  to  himself,  and  sitting 
down  there,  without  farther  ceremony  began 
whistling  a  tune. 

Beaucaire  grew  pale  with  passion. 

"  Sergeant!"  he  exclaimed,  after  some  mo- 
ments, "  lead  the  prisoner  back  to  his  con- 
finement !" 

In  obedience  to  the  command,  the  sergeant 
stepped  up  to  Bernard,  nodded  towards  the 
door,  and  marched  with  his  prisoner  out  of 
the  room. 

Beaucaire  then  ordered  both  writers  to  re- 
tire.    He  was  alone  with  St.  Luces. 

"  A  damned  process  !"  exclaimed  St.  Lu- 
ces, rising.  "  I  do  not  see  what  we  can  ac- 
complish with  these  obstinate  Germans,  be- 
yond sligiit  appearances.  Your  passion, 
Beaucaire,  has  thrown  us  into  a  dilemma  of 
a  most  disagreeable  nature." 

"  I  am  confident  we  shall  find  the  way  out," 
replied  the  cold-blooded  Beaucaire,  not  with- 
out a  certain  pride  in  the  superiority  of  his 
daring.  "  We  have  testimony  that  one  of  the 
prisoners  acknowledges  this  portrait  to  have 
been  drawn  by  his  hand.  This  circumstance 
alone  impresses  me  with  a  strong  conviction 
that  both  of  them  have  been  in  secret  coa- 
nexion  with  Dolgorow.  This  will  be  suffi- 
cient for  a  convincing  report.  Who  allowed 
this  Dolgorow  to  escape  over  the  boundary  ? 
Was  it  not  this  fellow,  in  conjunction  with 
his  accomplice  ?" 

"  Do  not  carry  the  matter  too  far,"  said 
St.  Luces,  bitterly.  "Of  existing  connec- 
tions, at  least,  we  will  make  no  mention. 
Who  wants  to  prove  too  much,  generally 
proves  nothing." 

"  M.  St.  Luces,"  replied  Beaucaire,  some- 
what piqued, "  allow  this  to  be  a  matter  of 
mine.  The  circumstance  that  we  even  find 
these  two  men  here  at  Smolensko,  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  which  is  Dolgorow's  chateau,  ought 
not  to  remain  unnoticed." 

"  You  have  yourself  told  me,"  answered 
St.  Luces,  "  that  you  have  never  seen  this 


property,  and  that  you  do  not  know  even  tbe 
name  of  it  or  its  locality," 

"  It  is  true,"  interrupted  Beaucaire  ;  "  but 
my  ignorance  in  this  matter  is  satisfactorily 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  of  my  having  en- 
tered Dolgorow's  service  only  in  London,  * 
when  I  could  not  possibly  acquire  any  know- 
ledge of  his  private  and  domestic  affairs.  I 
only  accompanied  him  on  his  travels.  Bo- 
sides  which,  my  occupation  as  secretary  in 
no  respect  rielated  to  mere  family  affairs — all 
of  which  he  himself  took  care  of.  The  less 
the  proof  tbe  more  room  for  conjecture — 
sayl." 

St.  Luces  paced   up  and  down  the  room,  = 
peevish  and  disquieted. 

"  I  know  not  what  it  is  that  really  disgusts 
rae  in  this  matter.  Is  it  that  this  Master  Von 
Rosen  is  linked  to  somebody  whom  once  I 
knew  ? — Or  is  it  some  other  fancy  that  de- 
ludes me  2 — Be  it  what  it  may,  I  fear  an  un- 
fortunate result." 

Beaucaire  smiled.  i 

"  I  pledge  myself  to  its  auspicious  termi- 
nation.    Count  Rasinski  can  no  longer  be 
dangerous  to  us  ;  he  is  away,  and  I  believe,"^ 
he  added,  with  a  sardonic  grin,  "  we  shall 
not  see  much  more  of  him  or  his  regiment." 

"  The  Emperor  esteems  him.  Should  he 
lay  a  complaint " 

"  He  would  lose  thereby  the  favor  of  the 
Emperor.  Or,  do  you  believe  it  to  be  a  re- 
commendation that  two  spies  are  serving  in 
his  regiment  ?  And  consider  how  angry  the 
Emperor  is  with  us  and  our  colleagues,  be- 
cause he  did  not  find  the  magazines  as  he 
expected.  I  heard  of  an  inspector  in  the  np- 
jter  town  whom  yesterday  he  ordered  to  be 
shot.  If  he  finds  time  to  examine  our  ac- 
counts and  supplies,  you  know  that " 

St.  Luces  bit  his  lips. 

"  What,  therefore^  can  be  more-  advanta- 
geous to  us  than  to  draw  him  favorably  to- 
wards us  by  some  proof  of  our  zeal  ?  Such 
an  opportunity  as  this  could  not  happen  more 
fortuitously  -^  for  the  Emperor's  suspicions  of 
foreign  i^nfederacies  are  increased  every 
day:  an*  since  the  last  events  at  Paris  he 
has  become  quite  alarpied.  Our  prisoners 
are  mutual  friends,  and  wTiat  is  more — Ger- 
mans ;  they  serve  probably  under  fictitious 
names ;  and,  above  all,  are  found  in  the  ranks 
of  a  Polish  reginuent.  This  last  alone  is  suf- 
ficient to  render  them  just  objects  of  suspi- 
cion." 

"  Well,  then,"  exclaimed  St.  Luces,  "  do 
what  you  please ;  but  I  absolve  luyself  of  tbe 
consequences." 

"Do  you  resign  to  me  the  emoluments 
also  ?"  asked  Beaucaire,  sarcastically. 

"  Certainly,  in  this  matter,  Monsieur  de  . 
Beaucaire,"  replied  St.  Luces  proudly. 

"  It  was  not  I  who  introduced  the  subject,"   i 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


909 


said  Beaucaire  coldly.    "  Yon  agree,  then, 
that  I  make  up  the  report  for  the  general  in 
tendant  and  hand  it  to  him,  for  the  purpose 
of  being  laid  before  the  Emperor  ?" 

"  Do  what  you  please." 

"  You  will  sign  it  with  me  ?" 

"  Since  I  cannot  avoid  it,  yes." 

"Very  well." 

Saying  these  words,  Beaucaire  went  away. 

Bernard  was  conducted  back,  not  to  the 
cell,  where  death  was  certain  during  the 
night,  but  to  the  guard-room,  where,  to  his 
great  joy,  he  found  Louis.  Room  was  made 
on  the  benches  for  the  young  men's  repose  ; 
but  entire  silence  was  enjoined,  under  pain 
of  being  thrust  into  their  former  prison.  In 
this  unlooked-for  accommodation  the  good- 
ness of  Sergeant  Ferrand  was  appreciated. 
Neither  Louis  nor  Bernard  opened  their  lips, 
and  thus  passed  the  night 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

Morning  had  not  yet  dawned  when  the 
sergeant  vehemently  shook  Louis'  arm,  and 
called  on  him  to  rise.  He  started  up  and  so 
did  Bernard,  awakened  by  the  same  hand 
and  voice. 

"  You  are  ordered  up  to  the  court-martial. 
Q,uick  I  Here,  take  a  warm  dram  and  a 
mouthful  of  food,  that  you  may  hear  your 
sentence  with  firmness." 

Louis  with  difficulty  recovered  his  senses, 
yet  half  unconscious  he  took  the  bread  of- 
fered to  him,  and  seized  the  bottle  of  warm 
mead  which  the  sergeant  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Are  we  now  allowed  to  speak  with  each 
other  ?"  asked  Bernard. 

"  As  much  as  you  please,  poor  fellows  ! — 
Now  you  have  all  things  freely  granted 
yon." 

Bernard  shrunk  back. 

"  Is  our  sentence  pronounced  ?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  You'll  hear  it  but  too  soon,"  was  the  ser- 
geant's answer. 

"  Tell  us  at  once,  I  beseech  you !"  said 
Louis  in  a  quick,  mournful  voice. 

"  By  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Ferrand,  "  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  say  any  more  to  you  ;  for, 
whatever  you  may  have  done,  you  are  brave 
soldiers.  Would  that  you  had  fallen  before 
a  battery.  It  is  no  pleasure,  I  assure  you,  to 
take  aim  at  a  comrade." 

"  So  we  shall  be  shot  ?"  gasped  Bernard, 
not  in  fear,  but  agitation. 

"  Such  is  the  sentence  !" 

"  Holy  Father  {"  exclaimed  Bernard,  as  he 
threw  himself  upon  Louis'  breast,  and  pressed 
him  vehemently  in  his  arms. 
14 


The  sergeant  kindly  touched  Bernard's 
shoulder,  and  said — 

"  Show  yourself  a  man,  comrade.  Death 
is  near  to  us  all.  Who  knows  whether  I 
survive  you  long  ?  Do  not  give  your  accu- 
sers the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  tremble  at 
your  fate." 

"  Tremble  !"  said  Bernard,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing fire.     "  Lead  on  !" 

Striding  resolutely  forward,  they  followed 
their  guide  up  into  the  council-room.  They 
found  it  vacant,  but  there  lay  some  papers  on 
the  table. 

"  That  paper  there  contains  the  sentence," 
said  the  sergeant,  as  be  pointed  to  one 
folded  up,  but  with  the  seal  broken.  "  It  is 
from  the  commissary-general.  A  quarter-of- 
an-hour  ago  it  arrived.  I  carried  it  up  my- 
self, and  heard  Baron  de  St.  Luces  read  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  it,"  said  Louis. 

"  Let  us  see  first  if  we  are  likely  to  be  sur- 
prised," observed  the  kind  sergeant. 

He  opened  the  dOorof  the  adjoining  room 
and  looked  into  it. 

"  They  are  still  over  yonder.  Read — but 
quickly." 

Louis  took  the  letter.  Its  contents  ran 
thus : 

"  I  have  presented  your  report  to  the'  Em- 
peiwr.  '  If  the  suspicion  amounts  to  a  cer- 
tainty, the  delinquents  must  be  shot  without 
further  ceremony,  for  there  needs  an  exam- 
ple,' was  his  answer.  If  your  representations 
of  the  matter  be  religiously  true,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  of  their  guilt.  We  have  here 
neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  enter  into  long 
examinations ;  nor  have  we  the  means  to 
carry  criminals  along  with  us.  Let  the  ex- 
ecution, therefore,  be  instantly  carried  into 
effect,  and  without  the  walls ;  so  that  it  may 
cause  no  unnecessary  alarm." 

"  So  we  may  yet  breathe  an  hour,"  said 
Bernard,  when  Louis  had  replaced  the  letter 
upon  the  table.  "  Well,  well,  let  it  come ; — 
the  world  has  more  misery  than  joy  !" 

Here  the  door  opened.  St.  Luces,  Beau- 
caire, and  the  two  clerks  entered,  and  took 
their  seats. 

St.  Luces  prepared  to  speak  first,  but 
seemed  to  be  confused.  Louis  fooked  un- 
dauntedly in  his  face.  Bernard  fixed  his 
fierce  glance  upon  him,  as  tliough  he  would 
pierce  his  dastardly  soul. 

"  The  sentence  of  the  council "  began 

St.  Luces,  with  a  wavering  voice. 

"  Sentence  of  council ! — Sentence  of  des- 
potism, you  had  better  call  it,  sir  !"  interrupt- 
ed Bernard. 

"  Do  you  defy  us  ?"  exclaimed  St.  Luces, 
more  confused  than  angry  or  resolute. 

"  I  defy  everything,  now.  So  do  not  seek 
to  iDtimidate  me." 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


•*  The  sentence,  Monsieur  de  Beaucaire," 
said  St.  Luces,  biting  his  lips. 

Beaucaire,  tlius  exhorted,  read  the  doom 
of  the  victims,  with  a  clear  and  unwavering^ 
voice. 

"  f  am  condemned  to  death,"  said  Louis  ; 
"  although  I  know,  before  God,  I  am  inno- 
cent;  and  1  know  further,  that  my  friend 
here  is  most  iniquitously  murdered,  and  has 
never  yet  been  guilty  of  any  infringement  of 
your  laws.  I  believe  I  possess,  at  least,  the 
right  conceded  to  every  criminal,  of  requiring 
the  execution  of  my  last  will.  I  therefore 
demand  my  papers  and  my  pocket-book." 

"  These  must  remain  with  the  records," 
replied  Beaucaire,  coldly  ; "  they  contain  the 
proofs  of  your  guilt."  • 

•'  Well,  to  this  also  I  must  submit !  It  is 
not  too  late  to  ask  for  pen  and  paper  ?" 

Beaucaire  took  out  his  watch,  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  St.  Luces.  But  he  received 
no  answer,  either  by  gesture  or  words. 

"  Too  late  !"  said  Beaucaire ;  "  Sergeant, 
are  your  men  ready  ?" 

"  They  are,  sir." 

"Then  let  them  enter.  We  must  be 
off!" 

"  Then  this  also  is  denied  to  me  ? — a  sa- 
cred right,  that  is  claimed  by  the  meanest 
criminal." 

"  Circumstances  do  not  permit  it,"  replied 
St.  Luces,  not  daring  to  raise  his  eyes  up  to 
Louis.  • 

"  Well,  then,"  exclaimed  Louis,  with  an 
expression  of  noble  indignation,  "thus  may 
the  crime  you  now  perpetrate  ^pon  us  here- 
after fall  upon  your  own  heads  !  Away  ! — 
I  have  nothing  more  to  do  upon  earth  but  to 
die !" 
,    Twelve  armed  men  now  marched  in. 

"  Separate  the  prisoners  !"  said  St.  Luces. 

The  sergeant  came  between  them ;  but 
they  reached  their  hands  to  each  other. — 
Faithfully  and  calmly  thpy  looked  in  each 
other's  faces,  and  tears  bedimmed  their 
sight. 

"  Farewell,  brother !"  exclaimed  Louis,  in 
a  manly  and  audible  voice. 

"  To  meet  again  !"  said  Bernard,  solemnly 
raising  his  hand  up  to  heaven. 

The  soldiers  parted  them — each  section 
guarding  its  prisoner. 

With  steps  that  resounded  gloomily,  they 
left  the  apartment.  Passing  by  Beaucaire, 
Bernard  cast  a  look  so  terrible  upon  him, 
that  even  this  hardened  villain  turned  pale. 

St.  Luces,  remarking  it,  said — 

"  Let  us  take  care  of  ourselves  ;  this  rash 
fellow  is  capable  of  anything.* 

Both  of  them  followed  the  detachment,  at 
seme  distance. 

They  took  their  way  through  the  yard,  out 
by  a  small  side-door  of  the  building.    It  was 


yet  but  the  grey  of  the  morning :  lingering 
stars  yet  gave  some  light.  Through  desolate 
and  dreary  lanes,  where  the  fires  of  the  bi- 
vouac were  yet  smoking,  and  around  which 
were  encircled  dark  linesof  slumbering— or, 
perhaps,  frozen  soldiers,  they  at  length 
reached  the  bridge  of  the  Dnieper.  Tfey 
then  marched  through  the  upper  town,  and 
arrived,  finally,  besiw  the  fortress-wall.  A 
few  hundred  paces  from  the  wall  was  an 
eminence,  covered  with  snow,  from  which 
protruded  a  dark  pine  thicket.  This  was  the 
place  chosen  for  the  execution.  An  officer 
was  stationed  there,  with  a  detachment  of 
twenty  men.  ft 

The  party  halted  upon  reaching  this  emi- 
nence. 

"  Here,  then,  is  the  end  of  our  career,"  said 
Louis,  pointing  to  a  marked  place  in  the 
snow,  on  which  he  was  to  receive  death. 
"  This  termination  of  our  soldiership  was 
little  dreamt  of,  when  four  months  ago  we 
passed  this  place .'" 

Bernard  appeared  to  meditate.  Something 
evidently  absorbed  all  his  thoughts ;  for  he 
answered  not,  although  Louis  stood  quite 
near  him. 

'*  Pay  attention,  Louis  !"  he  at  length  cau- 
tiously whispered,  "for  we  may,  perhaps, 
even  yet  escape.  If  we  can  but  reach  the 
angle  of  that  wood,  we  are  saved  ;  mark  those 
three  pines — let  that  be  our  rendezvous." 

Louis  trembled  with  re-awakened  emo- 
tion. His  heart  beat  violently.  He  looked 
towards  the  hill  and  saw  the  three  pines, 
standing  relieved  against  the  morning  light. 
Desire  for  life  was  rekindled  in  him.  Hope 
inspired  energy,  and  great  was  the  transition 
from  the  gloom  of  approaching  death  to  the 
light  of  recovered  hope-! 

Seizing  a  favorable  moment,  Bernard  sud- 
denly knocked  down  the  two  foremost  sol- 
diers, spranff  from  amongst  his  guards,  and 
shouting  toXiOuis  to  follow,  bounded  like  a 
roebuck  towards  the  forest.  He  had  cleared 
the  way  for  Louis,  who.  prepared  for  the  sig- 
nal, availed  himself  of  the  opening,  and  spnl 
across  the  snowy  field.  The  soldiers  stood 
astonished.  "  I*  ire  !"  cried  the  officer ;  and 
a  few  obeyed  the  order;  but  already  severa. 
were  in  full  pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  prevent- 
ing the  others  from  firing,  lest  they  should 
shoot  their  comrades.  Seeing  this,  all  threw 
down  their  muskets  and  joined  in  the  chase. 
Louis  sought  to  keep  near  Bernard,  in  order 
not  to  sever  his  fate  from  that  of  his  trusty 
friend.  But  the  number  of  their  pursuers 
soon  forced  them  to  tak»3  different  directions. 
The  hunted  and  the  hunters  were  alike  im- 
peded by  the  snow,  which  had  been  blown  oft 
the  steep  side  of  the  hillock,  but  lay  in  thick 
masses  on  the  table-land,  and  at  every  Btep  . 
the  feet  eank  deep.    Already  Louis  saw  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA, 


Sll 


daciky  foliage  of  the  pines  close  before  him, 
already  he  deemed  himself  to  have  escaped 
his  unjust  doom,  when  suddenly  he  sank  up 
to  the  hips,  and,  by  his^ext  movement,  up  to 
the  breast  in  the  snow,  which  had  drifted  into 
a  fissure  in  tlie  earth.  In  vain  he  strained 
every  muscle  to  extricate  himself.  In  a  few 
seconds  his  pursuers  reached  him,  grappled 
him  unmercifully,  and  pulled  him  out  of  the 
hole  by  his  arms  and  hair. 

Ill-treated  by  the  soldiers,  driven  forward 
by  blows  from  fists  and  musket  butts,  Louis 
was  dragged,  rather  than  walked,  to  the 
plac?  appointed  for  his  death.  Even  the 
scornful  gaze  with  which  Beaucaire  received 
him  was  insufficient  to  give  him  strength  to 
enjoy  in  the  last  moments  of  his  life  an  inward 
triumph  over  that  contemptible  wretch.  But 
he  looked  anxiously  around  for  Bernard,  to 
8ee  whether  he  again  was  the  companion  of 
his  melancholy  lot.  He  saw  him  not ;  he 
evidently  was  not  yet  captured.  The  hope 
that  his  friend  had  finally  effected  his  escape 
comforted  Louis,  although  he  felt  that  death, 
now  he  was  alone  to  meet  it,  was  harder  to 
endure  than  when  he  was  sustained  by  the 
companionship  of  the  gallant  Bernard. 

He  was  now  again  at  the  post,  to  which 
two  soldiers  secured  him  with  musket-slings, 
his  arms  behind  his  back,  as  though  they 
feared  fresh  resistance. '  The  sergeant  step- 
ped up  to  him,  a  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 

"  I  will  bandage  your  eyes,  comrade,"  said 
he,  compassionately  ;  "  it  is  better  so." 

In  the  first  instance  Louis  would  have 
scorned  the  bandage,  but  now  he  let  his  kind- 
hearted  fellow-soldier  have  bis  way.  Sud- 
denly it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  make 
the  sergeant  the  bearer  of  his  last  earthly 
wishes. 

"  Comrade,"  said  he  as  the  man  secured 
the  cloth  over  his  eyes,  "  you  will  not  refuse 
me  a  last  friendly  service.  So  soon  as  you 
are  able,  go  to  Colonel  Rasinski,  who  com- 
mands our  regiment ;  tell  him  how  I  died,  and 
beg  him  to  console  my  sister.  And  if  you 
outlive  fliis  war,  and  go  to  her  in  Warsaw  or 
Dresden,  and  tell  her  that^ — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  several  musket- 
shots  close  at  hand. 

"  Are  those  for  me,  already  V  cried  Louis 
— for  the  sergeant  had  let  go  the  handker- 
chief, now  secured  round  his  head,  and  step- 
ped aside.  For  sole  reply  Louis  heard  him 
exclaim — "  The  devil !  what  is  that  ?"  and 
spring  forward.  At  t^e  same  time  arose  a 
confused  outcry  and  bustle,  and  again  shots 
were  nred  just  in  the  neighborhood — one  bul- 
'  let  whistling  close  to  Louis'  head.  He  heard 
horses  in  full  gallop,  whilst  a  mixture  of 
words  of  command,  shouts,  clash  of  steel 
and  reports  of  fire-arms  resounded  on  all 
Bides. 


"  Forward !"  cried  the  Toice  of  the  ser^ 
geant.    "Close  your  ranks ! — fire  !" 

A  platoon  fire  from  some  twenty  nmskets 
rang  in  Louis'  ear ;  he  imagined  the  mnzzles 
were  pointed  at  him,  and  an  involuntary  tre- 
mor made  hia  whole  frame  quiver.  But  he 
was  still  alive  and  uninjured.  The  complete 
darltness  in  which  he  found  hiihself — the 
bonds  that  prevented  his  moving — the  excite- 
ment and  tension  of  his  nerves,  caused  a 
host  of  strange  wild  ideas  to  flit  across  his 
brain.  Hearing  upon  the  left  the  stamp  of 
hoofs  and  shouts  of  charging  horsemen,  he 
thought  for  a  moment  that  Rasinski  and  his 
men  had  come  to  deliver  him.  Then,  how- 
ever, he  heard  the  howling  war-cry  of  the 
Russians.  A  "  hourra"  rent  the  air.  The 
contending  masses  rushed  past  him;  the 
smoke  of  powder  whirled  in  his  face  ;  cries, 
groans,  and  clatter  of  weapons  were  all 
around  him.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
fight;  in  vain  he  strove  to  break  his  bonds, 
that  he  might  tear  the  bandage  from  his 
eyes ;  he  continued  in  profound  obscurity. 

"Is  it  a  frightful  dream?"  he  at  last 
gasped  out,  turning  his  face  to  heaven.  "  Will 
none  awake  me,  and  end  this  horrible  suffer- 
ing ?" 

But  no  hand  touched  him,  and  little  by 
little  the  tumult  receded,  and  was  lost  in  the 
distance. 

Thus  passed  a  few  minutes  of  agonizing 
suspense ;  Louis  writhed  in  his  fetters ;  a 
secret  voice  whispered  to  him,  that,  could  he 
burst  them,  he  might  yet  be  saved,  but  they- 
resisted  his  utmost  efforts.  Then  he  again 
heard  loud  voices,  which  gradually  approach- 
ed, accompanied  by  hurried  footsteps.  On  a 
sudden  a  rough  hand  tore  the  cloth  from  his 
eyes. 

Thunderstruck,  he  gazed  around.  Three 
men  with  long  beards,  whom  he  at  once  re- 
cognised as  Russian  peasants,  stood  before 
him,  staring  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  scorn 
and  wonder.  On  the  ground  lay  several 
muskets  and  the  bodies  of  two  French  sol- 
diers. Louis  saw  himself  in  the  power  of 
his  enemies,  whom  a  strange  chance  had 
converted  into  his  deliverers. 

With  the  slightest  knowledge  only  of 
the  language,  and  stunned  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  was  placed,  it  was  no 
way  surprising  that  for  a  time  Louis  was  at 
loss  for  the  words  to  procure  his  liberation. 
But  his  suppliant  look,  his  fettered  hands, 
spoke  as  intelligibly.  Yet,  the  hatred  of 
bitter  enmity  would  not  interpret  it ;  the 
ferocity  of  national  antipathy  overpowered 
the  more  tender  voice  of  pity.  One  of  the 
three  put  forth  his  hand  to  seize  the  prison- 
er's foraging  cap — Louis  resisted.  The  bar- 
barian, thereupon,  lifted  his  weapon,  and  was 
about  to  dash  out  his  brains,  when  a  friendly 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


hand  arrested  the  arm  raised  for  the  stroke. 
It  was  the  hand  of  a  man  of  venerable  ap- 
pearance, who,  covered  by  a  dark,  wide, 
furred  cloak,  had  just  emerged  from  the  for- 
est. With  a  soft,  but  earnest  voice  tlie  old 
man  uttered  some  words  of  remonstrance. 
The  three  men,  thereupon,  took  off  their 
caps,  and  bowing  with  reverence,  crcfssed 
their  arms  over  their  breasts.  Louis  recog- 
nised in  him  his  angel  of  deliverance.  His 
patriarchal  countenance  and  dignified  de- 
meanor were  a  guarantee  that  he  would 
succor  him  and  not  leave  him  to  perish. 
The  peasant,  who  had  before  menaced  him, 
now  approached  with  an  open  knife,  and  cut 
the  slings  with  which  he  was  bound.  Louis 
was  free !  Full  of  gratitude,  he  would  have 
seized  the  hand  of  the  old  man,  but  the  latter 
drew  back  in  deprecation  of  the  homage,  as 
though  he  would  say : — I  would  not  sufTer 
thee  to  be  cruelly  murdered  while  helplessly 
bound ;  but  thou  art  the  ravager  gf  my  coun- 
try,— the  insulter  of  my  God,  and  dost  out- 
rage all  that  is  sacred  to  us ;  therefore,  I 
will  hold  no  communion  with  thee." 

The  peasants  laid  hold  of  him  as  a  prisoner, 
compelling  him  to  go  forward  into  the  for- 
est. As  Louis  accompanied  them,  he  passed 
closely  by  one  of  the  lifeless  French  soldiers. 
It  was  the  honest  fellow  who  yesterday  had 
shared  with  him  his  bread.  "  How  wonder- 
ful is  destiny,"  he  thought — "  he  that  pitied  me 
only  a  few  minutes  ago,  lies  now  inanimate 
before  me  !  Honest  heart,  may'st  thou  find 
thy  reward  where  thou  art  gone  !" 

In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  wood, 
which  they  soon  found  thickly  timbered. 
The  men  halted  at  a  spot  where  already 
some  of  their  friends  awaited  them.  By-and- 
by  came  others  from  the  dh"ection  of  Smo- 
lensko — many  of  them  with  French  soldiers 
as  prisoners.  Louis  looked  with  deep  inter- 
est about  him,  to  ascertain  if  the  sergeant 
was  amongst  them — but  he  could  not  detect 
him.  Other  troops  soon  arrived ;  it  was 
clear,  these  men  had  prisoners  with  them, 
for  Lotiis  heard  their  lamentations  and 
groans.  In  the  confusion  of  the  crowd  he 
sought  to  discover  who  might  be  his  compan- 
ions in  misfortune.  Presently  the  party 
opened  its  ranks;  and  to  his  very  great 
astonishment,  Louis  beheld  Beaucaire  and 
St.  Luces,  half-naked  and  trembling,  in  the 
hands  of  their  enemies. 

The  eyes  of  the  newly-arrived  captives  in 
turn  fell  upon  Louis.  St.  Luces,  concealing 
his  face  with  both  hands,  stood  silent  in  fear, 
and  trembling.  But  Beaucaire  ground  his 
teeth  with  ferocious  rage,  and  muttered  a 
scarce  half-intelligible  curse,  of  which  Louis 
distinguished  only  the  words  traitor  and  spy. 
Louis  threw  back  an  indignant  glance,  and 
replied, 


"  You  are  mistaken  !  I  am  but  a  captive, 
even  as  yourself.  God  has  sent  you  your 
punishment!" 

The  Russians  were  almost  all  armed  peas- 
ants. They  collected  their  captives  in  one 
body,  and  disposed  their  force  around  them. 
Then  resuming  their  march,  tbej^  penetrated 
deeper  into  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

Fbom  the  hour  that  the  castle  of  Count 
Dolgorow  had  been  surprised  and  burnt 
down  by  Rasinski,  the  proprietor  had  not 
again  made  his  appearance  on  his  estate. 
After  the  enemy's  retreat  over  the  river,  the 
peasants  commenced  a  system  of  plunder  in 
the  burning  building,  and  sought  to  take  pos- 
session of  all  that  the  flames  bad  not  yet  de- 
voured. But  old  Gregorius  came  among 
them ;  and  in  all  the  dignity  of  authority, 
lifted  up  his  voice  against  their  proceedings. 

"  Check  the  flames,  my  friends,"  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  save  the  property  of  your  master, 
and  conceal  it  in  your  huts ;  but  never  dare 
wickedly  to  appropriate  it  to  yourselves. 
The  curse  will  readh  every  son  of  Russia, 
who  violates  his  fidelity  to  his  master." 

By  these  exhortations  the  reverend  Father 
bridled  the  avaricious  greediness  of  the  serfs, 
who  would  take  advantage  of  the  first  mo- 
ment of  their  liberty,  to  enrich  themselves  by 
the  property  of  their  master.     His  word  was 
law — his  very  look,  a  sacred  commandment 
Therefore  did  they  obey  him,  and  exert  all 
their  powers  to  save  the  castle  from  entire 
destruction.     They  secured  all  the  costly 
furniture  yet  uninjured,  and  carefully  hid  it 
away  in  the  deep  cellars,  which  are  never 
wanting    in    Russian  dwellings — even  the 
meanest     Thus  the  main  building  of  the 
castle  was  saved  from  the  fury  of  the  flames, 
and  stood  yet  almost  free  from  injury.     But 
in  the  apartments  all  was  waste  and  deso- 
lation,   in  most  of  them  the  windows  were 
shattered,  the  walls  blackened  by  smoke, 
and  all  ornament  entirely  defaced.      The 
edifice,  it  is  true,  etill  maintained  its  stately 
appearance  externally  ;  but  within,  its  con- 
dition was  such  that  scarce  a  single  room 
was  left  perfect,  the  greater  number  being  al- 
together uninhabitable. 

More  than  three  months  had  elapsed  since 
the  conflagration,  and  yet  the  Count  had  not 
returned.  In  the  meantime  the  iron  stream 
of  war  had  expended  itself  so  broadly  over 
the  country  that  it  stopped  all  communica- 
tion with  the  interior.  Gregorius,  who  would 
not  leave  bis  flock,  but  remained  as  its  fiutb- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


mi 


M  shepherd,  had,  for  this  reason,  heard  but 
little  since  that  hour,  either  from  the  Count; 
or  from  Feodorowna.  His  hand  had  blessed 
her  at  the  altar  when  she  became  a  bride, 
and  his  lips  had  uttered  prayers  for  God's 
blessing  upon  her,  both  here  and  hereafter. 

The  days  had  passed  uniformly  ;  autumn 
had  stripped  off  the  leaves  of  the  trees. 
The  green  of  the  firs  and  pines  became  every 
day  darker ;  soon  they  were  crowned  with 
hoar  frost,  and  finally  the  snow  spread  its 
broad  cover  over  them,  the  hills,  and  the  fro- 
zen streams. 

Day  after  day,  the  grey  clouds  of  winter 
gathered  more  gloomily :  the  snow  swept 
down  more  densely ;  the  storm  roared  more 
hollow  round  about  the  house  ;  and  the  hopes 
of  the  pioua  Father  were  exalted.  He  saw 
in  his  spirit  the  angel  of  vengeance  of  the 
Almighty,  riding  upon  the  wings  of  the  storm, 
^  and  brandishing  the  sword  of  destruction 
over  the  heads  of  the  blaspheming  invaders. 
With  prophetic  forebodings  lie  saw  the  long, 
gloomy  flights  of  the  ravens  spread  in  the 
t^yilight  over  the  tops  of  the  forests ;  and 
at  night,  when  the  wolf,  made  furious  by 
hunger,  came  howling  from  the  wood,  even 
up  to  the  closed  door  of  the  house,  he 
thought — "  Where  shall  the  armies  of  the 
transgressors  find  rest  and  shelter,  if  the 
hungry  beast  of  prey  prowls  around  even  our 
dwellings!" 

Indulging  such  contemplations,  the  old 
man  oftentimes  wasted  the  night  on  his  couch, 
when  all  around  him  were  fast  locked  in 
slumber. 

At  midnight  there  was  a  hasty  knock  at 
his  door,  and  a  manly  voice  cried  : 

♦*  Open  !  awake,  good  Father  Gregorius  ! 
Thy  hospitable  house  must  give  shelter  to 
late  travellers !" 

The  old  man  thought  he  recognised  the 
voice.  In  haste  he  cast  his  cloak  over  him, 
opened  the  window,  and  looked  out.  A  sleigh 
was  before  the  door. 

"  Who  knocks  thus  late  ?"  asked  Grego- 
rius. "Do  my  ears  deceive  me,  or  do  I 
recognise  a  well-known  voice  ?" 

*♦  You  ought  well  to  know  it,  good  Father," 
answered  the  stranger ;  "  I  am  Dolgorow." 

"  Grod  of  Heaven  !  You  yourself !"  ex- 
claimed GregoriuG  ;  and  he  hastened  with  his 
lamp  to  open  the  door. 

The  Count  stood  before  him. 
•"  Bid  me  welcome.  Father  ;  you  must  give 
me  shi;lter  this  night,  and  also  to  both  my 
companions  in  the  sleigh.     I  have  matters 
of  importance  to  relate  to  you." 

Gregorius  directed  his  light  upon  the  sleigh. 
There  sat  two  women  in  it.  Anticipating 
the  truth,  he  advanced  from  the  door  of  his 
house,  and  approached  the  travellers.  A 
tall  figure,  covered  with  a  thick  veil,  met 
his  gaze. 


"  Father  Gregorius,  I  greet  you !"  she 
said,  in  a  soft  voice,  and  he  recognised  his 
beloved  ward,  Feodorowna,  as  she  fell 
weeping  into  his  arms. 

Her  mother  followed  her — Gregorius  rev- 
erently leading  her  into  his  dwelling. 

"  What  brings  you  under  my  humble  roof?" 
said  he,  ^yith  an  agitated  voice  ;  for  the  pale 
face  of  Feodorowna  made  him  anxious,  and 
she  wore  a  veil  of  deep  mourning. 

"  I  will  answer  all  questions  for  her !"  re- 
plied Dolgorow.  "  For  the  present  be  kind 
enough  to  give  the  women  an  apartment 
where  they  may  rest ;  for  we  havq  been  hur- 
ried along,  day  and  night,  without  rest  or  in- 
termission. Do  not  disturb  any  of  the  peo- 
ple— for  our  presence  must  yet  remain  a 
secret." 

"  Yes,  do  assign  us  a  place  of 'rest,  dear 
Father,"  said  the  Countess  in  a  faint  voice ; 
"  I  am  exhausted  !" 

Gregorius  led  the  women  to  a  quiet  room, 
which  overlooked  the  garden,  and  was  well 
arranged  for  the  reception  of  guests,  and  as 
was  the  whole  house,  also  well  warmed.  The 
Countess  sank  instantly  down  upon  a  couch. 
Feodorowna,  reaching  her  hand  toTier  fatherly 
friend,  said : 

"To-morrow,  dear  Father — to-morrow,  I 
will  speak  with  you  as  long  as  you  please." 

"  But  do  you  not  require  now  some  refresh- 
ment— some  food  or  warm  beverage  ?"  asked 
the  old  man. 

"  Nothing,  dearest  Father  !"  replied  Feodo- 
rowna, "  but  rest ;  and  that  we  shall  find  here 
as  we  wish  it." 

"  Gregorius  returned  to  Dolgorow,  whom 
he  found  pacing  the  room  with  long  strides. 

"  Father  !"  said  the  Count  to  him,  laying 
his  hand  u|K)n  his  shoulder ;  "  Father,  great 
events  have  occurred.  Russia  hails  the  ap- 
proach of  days  of  splendor,  after  a  long  night 
of  ignominy  and  suffering !" 

"  What  ?  Can  I  put  trust  in  your  words  ? 
So  my  warm  prayers  have  been  fulfilled  ?" 

"  Thou  knowest  that  the  enemy  is  return- 
ing!" 

"  True — but  I  fear,  only  to  escape  from  the 
winter  of  Russia." 

"  The  winter  of  Russia  has  overtaken  him. 
It  is  too  kte  to  escape.  He  will  not  again 
see  the  boundaries  of  the  country  over 
which  he  so  haughtily  broke.  Would'st  thou 
believe  we  have  indeed  burned  Moscow ! 
Does  not  the  mariner  cast  away  into  the  sea 
the  costliest  goods,  so  that  he  may  again  raise 
buoyant  upon  the  waves  the  vessel  which 
has  been  unhappily  stranded  upon  a  shoal  ? 
Does  not  the  pirate  blow  up  himself  and  his 
enemy  at  once  ?  And  are  not  Russia's  sons 
men  that  are  able  to  do  the  same  ?  Old  man, 
learn  to  think  better  of  us  !  The  flames  of 
Moscow  were  not  kindled  by  an  enemy's 
torch.    Its  splendor  will  beam  upon  the  most 


914 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


dreadful,  but  also  the  mightiest  deed  in  the 
annals  of  Russia." 

"  What  ?"  exclaimed  Gregorius,    raising 
his  hands  in  astonishment — "  What  ?" 

"  Let  this  pass,  now  ;  it  is  as  I  have  told 
you ;  but  we  have  more  important  matters  to 
speak  about.  From  that  night  of  horror,  up- 
rose the  thunder-cloud  of  ruin,  pouring  down 
its  vengeance  upon  the  rash  man  who  led  the 
armed  hosts  of  £urope  to  ravage  and  deso- 
late our  country.  He  will  live  to  see  the 
day  of  ignominy,  when  he  shall  himself  turn 
to  flight.  The  pride  of  the  invincible  is 
broken — vengeance  has  overtaken  him — ere 
this  we  had  hoped  to  annihilate  him.  It  is 
now  too  late,  indeed  ;  but  he  will  not  escape 
his  destiny.  Listen  to  me  attentively,  worthy 
Father,  for  your  aid  is  also  required.  You 
will  not  haVe  forgotten  how  the  nuptials  of 
my  daughter  were  interrupted.  You  see  her 
now  in  the  mourning  veil  of  the  widow,  for  her 
husband  is  no  more.  As  we  fled,  enemies 
overtook  us  close  to  the  forest  behind  the 
garden.  A  bullet  struck  the  Prince ;  he 
sank,  but  we  succeeded  in  concealing  him  in 
the  forest.  Upon  a  litter  of  twigs  we  carried 
him  to  the  next  village,  and  there  we  found 
means  to  transport  him  slowly  to  Moscow. 
We  were  followed  closely  by  the  enemy, 
whose  approach  kept  us  constantly  in  motion 
until  we  reached  Moscow,  for  he  preferred 
death  to  the  horrorof  falling  into  their  hands. 
From  Moscow,  I  myself  hastened  back  to 
the  army.  I  fought  at  Borodino,  where  we 
lost  nothing  beyond  a  wilderness  covered 
with  dead  bodies.  The  Frenchman  paid 
dearly  for  his  victory  there.  Wounded,  al- 
though slightly,  I  repaired  to  Moscow,  where 
the  Prince  in  his  palace,  attended  by  me  and 
his  wife,  lingered  on  his  sick  couch.  He  had 
been  unable  to  obtain  rest  at  first,  and  in  con- 
sequence, the  wound  had  become  worse — to 
that  degree,  that  there  was  little  hope  of  re- 
covery. The  enemy  soon  appeared  before 
the  capital.  During  the  investment  Ochal- 
skoi  struggled  with  death.  We  had  carried 
him  into  a  remote  wing  of  the  palace,  where 
we  could  have  remained  in  concealment  if  the 
burning  of  the  city  had  not  been  determined 
on.  With  the  setting  sun,  Ochalskoi  closed 
his  eyes  forever.  We  waited  only  fof  night 
to  fly  in  secret  from  the  palace.  But  even 
the  dead  body  of  my  son-in-law  we  would  not 
leave  to  the  enemy,  for  I  had  promised  the 
dying  man  to  spare  no  pains  to  deposit  his 
remains  safely  in  unpolluted  ground.  We 
sttcceeded  in  gaining  the  open  fields — the 
flames  of  Moscow  lighting  us  on  our  flight. 
Soon  we  reached  the  thick  forest,  and  beyond 
it  the  road  to  St.  Petersburg.  I  repaired,  ac- 
companied by  my  wife  and,  daughter  to  our 
Emperor.  From  thence  was  now  spread 
the  broad  net  into  which  we  allured  the 


arch-enemy  of  our  country.  With  hopes 
of  peace  we  kept  him  in  suspense,  till  he 
finally  discovered,  that  himself,  so  long  ac 
customed  to  delude  others,  was  this  time  the 
deluded.  Yet,  even  then  there  was  time  to 
retreat,  although  at  great  cost,  beyond  tha 
boundaries  of  Russia.  But  his  pride  strug- 
gled long  against  the  disgrace  of  a  retro- 
grade movement.  In  his  boasted  invincibility 
he  tried  to  cleave  himself  a  new  path.  II 
failed  him;  his  hour  was  come;  he  must 
turn  and  flee.  But  it  was  now  too  late.  Al- 
ready the  fine  threads  we  had  spun  around 
our  arch-enemy  began  to  contract.  The 
Almighty  was  invoked  to  our  aid — for  it  was 
a  holy  work.  He  commanded  his  sun  to 
shine  deceitfully,  veiling  with  his  mild  beams 
the  proximity  of  howling  winter — that  fierce 
destroyer  who  now  suddenly  breaks  forth 
from  his  ambush.  No  flight  can  save  them. 
For  this  I  came  hither.  Now,  Father,  it  be- 
comes us  to  awaken  the  sons  of  Russia  with 
holy  resentment  against  these  proud  trans- 
gressors who  have  laughed  at  our  tears — 
our  groans,  and  our  prayers.  Thou  must  aid 
me  in  stirring  up  the  people,  gathering  them, 
and  leading  them  against  the  enemy.  For  this 
purpose  have  I  come  hither  from  the  capital. 
I  hastened  as  the  wind — for  I  hoped  we  should 
reach  Smolensko  before  the  French  Emperor, 
and  make  ourselves,  by  a  sudden  surprise, 
sure  of  the  fortress.  Then  he  would  have 
fallen  here  in  the  heart  of  Russia.  But  that 
is  now  too  late.  I  know  that  he  has  been 
here  since  yesterday.  It  was  only  with 
great  peril,  and  on  by-ways,  through  the 
fqrests  that  I  could  make  good  my  course 
hither.  But  where  I  crossed  the  great  road, 
I  saw  already  awful  traces  of  the  ruin  that 
had  overtaken  him.  It  is  covered  with  dead 
and  fragments.  Not  one  ought  to  escape — 
not  one  must  be  permitted  to  tell  the  tale  of 
disaster  at  home.  Only  by  the  dead  shrine 
— by  the  terrible  disappearance  of  every 
trace — should  those  at  home  learn  what  fate 
has  overwhelmed  their  chief  and  his  follow- 
ers. When  the  morning  dawns,  Gregoriua, 
assemble  the  people  by  the  tolling  of  the 
church-bell.  Fill  their  hearts  with  the  flame 
of  just  indignation ;  call  upon  them  for  ve;i- 
geance  upon  the  enemies  of  their  country  and 
their  God.  Not  even  children  or  women 
should  remain  unemployed.  Therefore,  I 
brought  both  wife  and  daughter  along  with 
me,  that  they  may  give  an  example  of  the 
duty  of  noblewomen  inhabiting  Russia. — 
Then  I  will  come  amidst  them  ;  send  some 
out  as  messengers  round  about,  and  before 
evening  sets  in  we  shall  have  armed  thou- 
sands to  lead  against  the  enemy.  They  are 
to  break  out  of  the  recesses  of  the  forests  as 
the  lion  upon  his  prey ;  they  are  to  rush 
suddenly  upon  the  disheartened  fugitives — 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


SIS 


rfven  as  the  black  thnnder-cloud  pours  doi«vn 
its  hail-stones  upon  the  scattered  flock.  That 
is  now  our  duty,  Gregorius !  Thou  wilt  help 
as  to  perform  it  manfully." 

"  As  certain  as  the  face  of  the  Lord  shines 
upon  my  grey  hairs,"  replied  the  old  man, 
in  a  tone  of  inspiration,  and  raising  his  right 
hand  to  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

WiTHooT  the  loss  of  a  moment,  or  looking 
behind  him,  Bernard  reached  at  full  speed 
■  the  angle  of  the  forest.  His  pursuers  were 
close  upon  him,  but  the  golden  prize  of 
liberty  that  glittered  before  him  gave  him 
wings.  Grod's  hand  protected  him ;  for 
although  some  bullets,  in  passing  by,  nearly 
grazed  his  head,  yet  none  struck  him. 

Now  the  thicket  covered  him.  Although 
it  checked  the  speed  of  his  flight,  it  con- 
cealed at  the  same  time,  the  direction  of  it, 
and  presented  the  same  obstacles  to  his  pur- 
suers. Bending  forward,  and  holding  his 
left  arm  over  his  eyes,  he  rushed  headlong 
forward,  not  caring  for  the  shrubs,  that  la- 
cerated his  hands  and  face.  Finally  his 
breath  failed ;  he  stood  still  for  a  moment, 
for  respiration.  He  listened  anxiously,  if 
perchance  there  were  to  be  heard  any  steps 
behind  him.  All  around  him  was  silent  as 
the  grave.  After  a  brief  rest,  he  cautiously 
advanced  somewhat  deeper  into  the  forest, 
until  he  reached  a  dense  thicket  that  would 
have  concealed  him  even  from  any  passing 
close  to  liim.  It  was  not  before  reaching 
this  point,  that  he  allowed  himself  a  longer 
rest,  to  consider  what  was  next  to  be  done. 

"  Thou  art  saved  for  this  time,"  thought  he, 
breathing  deeply ;  and  thankfully  did  he 
raise  his  eyes  to  heaven.  "  Would  that  Louis 
were  but  here  I  And  then ! — aye,  what  then  ? 
Both  of  us  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert,  aban- 
doned to  the  cold,  to  hunger,  to  the  fury  of 
the  inhabitants  ?  Shame  on  thee,  Bernard  ! 
wilt  thou  despair  even  in  the  very  hour  when 
thou  hast  got  proof  that  there  is  nothing 
lost  where  all  is  not  lost !  Look  well  to 
the  future ! — watch  it  narrowly,  even  as  a 
fencer  watches  his  adversary;  the  attack 
and  the  defence  are  alike  important" 

With  these  thoughts  he  continued  his  way 
in  the  direction  of  the  hill  with  the  three 
pines.  In  the  shadows  of  the  forest  twilight 
was  yet  linorering  ;  silence  brooded  over  soli- 
tude. Suddenly  he  heard  the  sound  of  drop- 
ping shot. 

"  Holy  Father !  should  it  be  Louis,  whom 
they  have  seized  again,"  exclaimed  Ber- 
nard, standing  as  though  rooted  to  the 
gronnd,  with  his  body  bent  forward  in  the 


direction  of  the  sound-  There  fell  again 
the  sound  of  shot,  and  yet  once  and  again  ! 
"  No,"  he  thought,  his  breast  relieved  from 
painful  oppression,  "  that  is  not  the  dreadful 
sound,  I  feared."  But  still  he  felt  quite  un- 
able to  explain  this  firing — especially  as  it 
was  mingled  with  -confused  clamor — for  it 
was  echoed  from  a  distance,  and  the  tumult 
reached  him  but  partially  and  heavily  through 
the  still  forest, 

"  If  I  could  but  learn  where  the  enemy 
could  have  sprung  out  of  the  soil,  I  should 
believe  it  to  be  a  fight.  I  might  know,  indeed, 
if  I  could  but  get  a  glance  over  the  plain  !*' 

He  hurried  towards  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
but  before  he  had  reached  it,  the  firing  and 
alarm  was  over.  He  would  have  made  fur- 
ther researches,  had  he  not  heard  steps  in 
the  neighborhood,  as  of  one  who  walked 
rapidly  through  the  brush-wood. 

Bernard  now  became  jrresolute.  He 
hesitated  whether  to  hasten  to  reach  the 
point  of  their  rendezvous  as  agreed  upon,  or 
to  go  back  and  strive  to  discover  what  had 
become  of  Louis.  After  short  reflection  he 
chose  the  latter. 

"  He  may  wait  for  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
longer ;  it  is  better  that  he  endure  tliis,  than 
that  I  perhaps  leave  him  without  help,  and 
without  the  consolation  of  a  friend,  in  the 
hands  of  his  enemies.  Is  he  already  a  vic- 
tim? No,  no  !  it  is  impossible  !  But  if  he 
has  fallen,  I  desire  to  fall  also!" 

There  was  a  certain  dauntless  pride  in 
Bernard's  heart,  which  confirmed  him  in 
this  resolution.  He  would  not  allow  it  to  be 
^aid,  that  he,  to  save  himself,  had  forsaken 
his  friend. 

Bernard's  internal  anxiety  increased  ;  the 
more  impetuous  became  the  struggle  of  his 
feelings,  the  nearer  he  approached  the  place 
where  he  hoped  to  obtain  certainty  respect- 
ing the  fate  of  his  friend.  At  length  he 
reached  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  could 
look  over  the  hill  where  death  had  but  lately 
awaited  him.  He  was  alone — no  sign  of 
life  within  sight  or  hearing ;  Bernard  ven- 
tured forth.  The  snow  was  crossed  by 
numberless  tracks  ;  bodies  of  horsemen,  too^ 
must  have  taken  their  way  over  the  hill. 
He  picked  up  a  military  cap — it  was  stain- 
ed with  blood;  it  offered  undeniable  evi- 
dence that  a  skirmish  must  have  been  fought 
here.  At  a  distance  he  observed  dead  bodies. 
What ! — if  Louis  should  be  among  them  ? 
He  hastened  on  at  full  speed.  Heaven  be 
praised  ; — no  ! — they  are  French  uniforms  ! 

Three  men  lay  stretched  out  upon  the 
snow.  The  nearest  one  was  recognised  by 
Bernard ;  it  was  honest-hearted  Coitin,  who 
had  divided  his  ration ;  tlie  other  two  were 
unknown  to  him.  His  joy  on  account  of  the 
appearances  in  favor  of  Louis'  escape  left 


Hh 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


no  room  for  the  indulgence  of  grief  over  the 
kind-hearted  Cottin.  His  flight  must  hare 
Deen  successful.  Yes — he  must  be  waiting 
at  the  three  pines  on  the  hill. 

Yet  not  alone  in  obedience  to  this  gener- 
ous impulse  did  Bernard  retrace  his  steps. 
Absorbed  in  reflections  lie  had  not  seen  *a 
body  of  troops  issue  from  the  gate  of  the 
city.  These  men  had  been  detached,  but  too 
late,  to  support  their  comrades.  They  had 
already  marched  some  distance  into  the 
plain,  and  had  approached  within  a  few 
hundred  paces,  when  Bernard  first  perceived 
them.  But  time  and  space  were  yet  in  his 
favor ;  and  he  fled  speedily  on  his  way  to 
the  place  agreed  upon  for  their  meeting. 

After  half  an  hour  be  reached  the  spot. 
The  pines  stood  alone  upon  a  height,  sur- 
rounded only  by  low  bushes,  which  did  not 
intercept  his  view.     In   front   he  saw   the 
towers  and  wall^f  Smolensko,  behind  which 
arose  the  snow-covered  heights  which  ran 
parallel  with  the  banks  of  the  Dneiper.     In 
the  distance  a  long  blue  line  of  woods  stretch- 
ed athwart  the  horizon.    This  line  indicated 
the  road  from  Moscow.    On  his  right  hand 
the  view  was  interrupted  by  a  wood  ih  his 
immediate  vicinity.     On  the   left  hand  he 
looked  into  a  wider  plain,  but  the  eye  fell 
only  upon  interminable  pine  forests  in  the 
distance,  which  seemed  to  cover  the  view  in 
that  direction.    Behind  him,  and  on  his  own 
side  of  the  river,  was  a  second  line  of  heights, 
which  obscured  his  further  observations  ;  but 
he  knew  that  beyond  them  the  plains  were  [ 
open  and  extensive. 

He  cast  only  a  superficial  look  over  this 
dreary,  desert  landscape ;  his  eye  searched 
for  Louis  in  every  direction.  He  could  dis- 
cover no  trace  of  him.  At  first  gently,  then 
louder  and  louder,  he  called  the  name  of  his 
friend  ;  but  his  voice  echoed  in  vain  through 
the  deep  solitude  of  the  waste. 

Now  he  became  anxious.  A  thousand 
possibilities  presented  themselves  to  his  sus- 
picion— each  bordering  upon  the  truth,  but 
not  really  attaining  it. 

He  wandered  in  every  direction  over  the 
hill,  and  searched  every  bush.  He  carefully 
examined  the  surface  of  the  snow,  in  the 
hope  of  discovering  some  track  of  the  wan- 
derer. But  all  in  vain.  He  enlarged  the 
circumference  of  his  observation,  and  actu- 
ally twice  or  thrice  made  the  entire  circum- 
ference of  the  hill ;  but  he  found  no  track  of 
human  footsteps  save  his  own.  And  the 
eonvletion  was  forced  upon  him,  that  none 
but  himself  had  approached  the  hill. 

This  conviction  fell  with  a  heavy  weight 
upon  his  breast.  Was  Louis  saved,  or  was 
he  not  ?  Had  he  misunderstood  him  ?  Had 
he  changed  his  flight  in  another  direction  ?  Or 
bail  circumstanced  forced  him  to  seek  safety 


on  the  other  side  of  the  forest  ?    Did  he  pei«- 
ish  in  the  battle  ? 

These  and  many  other  questions  suggest- 
ed themselves  to  the  anxious  Bernard ;  but 
he  knew  of  no  answer  to  them.  Thi.s  one 
dreadful  calamity  was  more  and  more  deeply 
impressed  upon  him — that  he  was  separated 
from  his  friend,  and  that  only  some  favorable 
turn  of  fortune  which  lay  beyond  bis  con- 
trol could  again  bring  them  together. 

Noon  advanced.  By  long  wading  through 
the  snow,  Bernard's  feet  had  become  thor- 
oughly wet;  and  his  legs  were  weary  in  the 
extreme.  Hunger  came  upon  him  with  pow- 
erful acuteness ;  for  the  body,  well  nourished 
for  two  days,  had  regained  strength,  so  as  to 
be  able  to  resist  for  a  time  the  cravings  of 
this  great  enemy ;  but  the  more  intolerable, 
therefore,  was  the  present  pain.  Somd  reso- 
lution must  be  taken.  Of  two  alternatives 
a  chwce  must  be  made  :  he  must  either  re- 
turn to  the  city,  and  deliver  himself  up  to 
certain  and  ignominous  death ;  or  be  must 
venture  to  proceed  alone  on  his  perilous 
journey,  where  countless  panics  and  priva- 
tions awaited  him,  and  to  encounter  which, 
the  faint  hope  of  ultimate  safety  was  scarce- 
ly a  sufficient  incentive. 

And  whither  should  he  take  his  way  ? 
Without  weapons  to  defend  himself  against 
a  hungry  wolf,  or  to  fell  wood  for  firing ; 
without  food,  wjthout  money  to  purchase  it, 
it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  make  good 
safe  return.  There  remained  nothing  but 
to  retrace  his  way,  so  as  to  reach  the  corp» 
I  of  Ney,  which  was  at  least  twp  days'  march 
in  the  rear.  If  Louis  was  free,  he  reflected, 
such  also  would  be  his  only  resolution. 
Therefore  was  this  the  only  chance  on  which 
he  could  rely  to  meet  bis  friend  again. 

He  broke  off  a  short  pine -branch,  and 
trimmed  it  with  his  pocket-knife,  so  as  to 
make  it  serviceable,  not  only  as  a  walking 
staff,  but  as  a  weapon  of  defence  in  case  of 
need.  Thus  be  commenced  bis  dreary  way 
to  regain  the  great  road.  His  prospects 
within  and  without  were  dreadful  enough. 
He  bad  to  pass  through  an  almost  impene- 
trable forest,  and  wade  through  snow  knee- 
deep.  His  progress  was  slow,  indeed ;  and 
although  the  road  was  distant  only  about 
half-an-hour's  ordinary  walk,  yet  after  two 
hours'  toil  he  had  not  yet  reached  it.  He 
dared  not  enter  it  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  Smolensko;  and  the  many  obstacles  ii> 
his  way,  and  the  circuitous  paths  he  was 
obliged  to  follow,  had  more  than  doubled  the 
djrect  line.  His  strenuous  exertions  and 
his  hunger,  at  length  so  exhausted  his  bodily 
powers,  that  he  was  obliged  to  lie  down. 
With  some  twigs  he  brushed  the  loose  snow 
aside,  and  made  himself  a  rude  couch,  upon 
which  he  stretched  himself  to  rest.      Hi» 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


217 


{p%at  eSbrt  now  was  to  avoid  sleep,  for  he 
knew  well  that  sleep  would  become  •  torpor, 
and  torpor  terminate  in  death.  Yet  much 
effort  was  not  requisite ;  for  the  pangs  of 
hunger  and  the  torments  of  his  thoughts 
w6re  sufficient  to  drive  sleep  away,  while  as 
yet  mere  bodily  fatigue  was  the  least  of  the 
evils  he  endured.  To  allay  in  some  measure 
the  pains  of  hunger,  he  cut  the  young  resin- 
ous shoots  out  of  the  pine  twigs,  and  tried  to 
eat  them.  This  bitter  food,  and  some  snow 
he  had  taken  to  quench  his  thirst,  was  the 
only  refreshment  attainable  in  his  present 
desperate  situation.  After  an  hour  of  rest 
he  started  anew,  and  soon  reached  the  great 
road.  But  what  a  view  presented  itself  to 
him  !  It  was  too  plainly  marked  out  with 
half-naked  bodies,  projecting  out  of  the  snow. 
Small  hillocks,  lightly  covered  with  snow, 
against  which  the  foot  of  the  traveller  con- 
tinually stumbled,  were  the  graves  of  as  many 
miserable  sufferers.  Weapons  cast  away, 
pieces  of  uniforms,  baggage,  dead  horses, 
would  have  rendered  the  way  taken  by  the 
army  conspicuous  enough ;  even  if  there 
had  not  been  visible  a  great  broad  road, 
deeply  hollowed  out  by  the  artillery  and  bag- 
gage-wagons. 

A  silent  horror  crept  through  Bernard's 
frame,  "as  he  found  himself  now  alone  amidst 
the  traces  that  indicated  the  dreadful  path 
of  desolation  which  deifith  had  pursued 
through  the  wilderness  of  snow.  The  road 
assumed  the  appearance  of  an  immensely 
lengthened  grave-yard, — but  where  no  hand 
of  religion  or  friendship  had  interred  the 
dead.  A  shroud  of  snow  formed  alone  the 
cold  covering  of  the  fallen  victims  of  ambi- 
tion. Bernard  expected  soon  to  reach  a  vil- 
lage. Beyond  a  turn  in  the  road  it  lay  be- 
fore him.  But  there  was  no  longer  a  house 
to  bft  recognised  ;  all  were  torn  down  or 
burnt.  Here  and  there  a  tall  chimney  and 
charred  wall  projected  through  the  snow. 
He  rightly  conjectured  that  some  troops  had 
bivouaced  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  the 
men  had  used  all  the  wood  for  their  fires.  He 
soon  discovered,  also,  the  dark  and  yet  smok- 
ing fire-places  along  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
He  approached  them  in  the  hope  of  finding 
something  that  might  appease  his  hunger. 
In  vain  !  Here  there  were  no  dead  bodies, 
for  here  it  was  that  the  strong  and  hearty 
had  rested,  and  the  fires  had  protected  them 
from  the  cold.  Bernard  thrust  his  staff  into 
the  smouldering  ashes  and  uncovered  a  yet 
burning  log.  It  was  a  proof  that  the  place 
had  been  left  only  that  morning.  On  the 
snow  he  found  a  button ;  he  raised  it.  A 
tl^ll  of  joy  passed  over  him ;  he  saw  upon 
it  the  devices  of  his  own  regiment  This 
small  but  important  token  gave  him  new 
hope.    Rasinski  bad  halted  here.    As  it  was 


not  until  afternoon  that  he  marched  out  of 
Smolensko,  he  must  have  bivouaced  here 
for  the  night,  and  was  perhaps  scarcely  half 
a  day's  march  distant  from  the  place. 

If  Bernard  could  but  have  obtained  a  mor- 
sel of  food,  and  could  have  rested  only  a  few 
hours,  he  would  have  -been  able  to  reach  his 
friends  perhaps  before  night.  But  he  was 
too  far  exhausted  by  bodily  fatigue,  over  and 
above  the  painful  emotions  of  his  mind. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  himself  un- 
nerved. His  energies  were  shaken.  Bodily 
weakness  unmanned  him.  His  heart  sunk 
within  him  as  the  dreary  sense  of  solitude 
and  desertion  came  over  him.  The  unfail- 
ing resolution  with  which  he  would  arouse 
the  couitige  and  resources  of  others,  was 
unequal  to  the  task  of  arousing  himself. 
He  was  utterly  overcome. 

He  folded  his  arms  in  silence,  and  bent 
himself  forward  in  a  crouching  position,  on 
account  of  the  severity  of  the  cold.  He  sat 
against  a  half-ruined  wall,  and  was  soon  ab- 
sorbed in  disheartening  reflections. 

Silence  pervaded  throughout.  The  dark 
pine  forest  stood  before  him  in  grim  array ; 
the  trees  bent  their  branches  to  the  earth 
with  the  weight  of  the  snow  ; — grey  clouds 
floated  slowly  and  heavily  over  the  dismal 
landscape.  Nature  appeared  in  a  state 
of  torpidity.  All  was  motionless,  frigid,  and 
repulsive. 

"  What  further  need  of  suffering  ?"  said 
Bernard,  suddenly  rising  and  stepping  for- 
ward. "  Do  not  thousands  slumber  here  be- 
fore me  ?  The  end  is  but  to  sink  into  the 
cold  arms  of  death.  The  pain  will  be  short : 
for  an  instant  only  can  the  hand  of  death  be 
upon  thee ;  and  in  an  instant,  there  is  an  end 
at  once  of  all  pain  and  trouble." 

Then  a  voice  seemed  to  whisper — 

"  Why  repine  ?  Beyond  these  clouds  of 
storm  is  the  blue  expanse  of  day  and  life, 
which  once  thou  hast  seen.  Even  when  sur- 
rounded by  friends,  and  indulging  in  pleas- 
ures, wast  thou  happy  ?  Was  there  not  some 
hidden  perplexity — some  yearning — preying 
upon  the  unsatisfied  heart?  Did  the  bril- 
liancy and  variety  of  life's  pleasures  then 
administer  comfort  to  the  weary  breast  ? 
Thou  didst  drink  of  the  cup  of  pleasure,  but 
it  did  not  quench  thy  burning  thirst ;  it  only 
often  augmented  thy  desires !  And  now, 
when  the  hour  of  rest  is  at  hand,  thou  tura- 
est  from  it  with  horror  and  disgust !  Thou 
wilt  cling  fondly  to  a  miserable  slavery,  rather 
than  submit  to  the  terms  of  thy  redemption. 
Is  hope,  also,  so  delicate  a  plant,  that  it  must 
needs  perish  in  this  ice-bed  ?  Is  the 
whole  force  of  manhood  insufficient  for  the 
resuscitation  of  that  spark  which  should  ne- 
ver die  ?  Look  the  spectre  of  despair  steadily 
in  the  face,  and  he  will  quail  to  the  dust  be- 


218 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  j  OR, 


neath  the  eye  of  a  man.  It  tarries  with  thee, 
only  because  a  vain  and  foolish  imagination 
chooses  to  sport  with  its  unworthy  creations. 
The  mirror  in  which  these  phantoms  are  seen 
is  false.  Break  it — and  they  vanish  for- 
ever !" 

But  in  vain  did  reason  contend  with  the 
tremendous  reality.  In  vain  did  the  spirit  en- 
deavor to  rend  the  bond  that  held  it  in  subor- 
dination to  the  wants  of  the  body.  Despair 
still  clung  with  tenacity  ;  and  Bernard  felt  its 
cold  influence  stealing  deeper  and  deeper  into 
his  heart,  without  the  power  either  to  fly  or 
resist. 

"  Here  let  it  be,  then — beside  this  fallen 
tree,"  he  uttered,  folding  his  cloak  around 
him,  and  throwing  himself  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

Bernard  had  scarce  lain  down  when  he 
heard  a  noise  in  the  wood,  that  struck  him  as 
the  footstep  of  a  man.  Starting,  he  looked 
about,  and  shortly  observed  the  low  under- 
wood shaken,  and  presently  open.  A  strange 
and  singular  figure  stepped  out  before  him — 
a  man  clothed  in  grey  fur,  with  a  red  cloak 
about  his  head.  He  looked  cautiously  about 
him. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  exclaimed  in  French, 
as  his  eye  rested  on  Bernard. 

"  I  live  !"  answered  Bernard,  raising  him- 
self painfully. 

"  But  it  looks  as  though  that  would  not  be 
long,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  Are  you  worn 
down  with  hunger  ?" 

Bernard  nodded  his  head. 

"  Then,  perhaps  I  can  help  you,"  said  the 
other,  approaching ; "  but  tell  me,  which  way 
runs  the  road  to  Smclensko  ?" 

"  Two  hundred  paces  below  this  spot  is  the 
road." 

"  Thank  God  !  And  how  far  to  the  city  ?" 

"  Four  hours'  travel." 

"  Any  Cossacks  on  the  road  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  have  seen  none." 

"Heavenly  Father!  thou  wilt  yet  save 
me  !"  Ejaculating  these  words,  the  stranger 
sank  upon  his  knees,  raising  his  eyes  gradu- 
ally upwards,  while  abundant  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  Here,  my  good  friend,  help  your- 
self," he  said,  after  a  brief  pause ;  holding 
out  a  piece  of  bread  to  Bernard  :  "  thou  hast 
refreshed  me — I  will  refresh  thee.  Partake  ; 
and  here  is  also  something  to  drink."  At  the 
same  time  he  drew  a  bottle  of  brandy  out  of 
his  bosom,  and  presented  it  to  Bernard. 

"  So  then,  the  end  is  not  yet !"  murmured 
Bernard,  with  deep  emotion.  "  Thanks  to 
you,  friend  ;  you  are  my  preserver  !" 


"  And  thou  art  mine !" 

"  But  from  whence  do  you  come,  bjF  the 
way  of  the  forest  ?"  asked  Bernard. 

"From  a  place  seven-fold  more  terrible 
than  the  jaws  of  hell !"  replied  the  stranger, 
as  he  sat  down.  "  The  day  before  yesterday, 
hunger  drove  me,  with  many  others  of  my 
comrades,  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  regiment. 
Our  object  was  to  seek  food  in  the  nearest 
villages.  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  fo- 
rage, a  horde  of  peasants  fell  upon  us,  and  be- 
gan  butchering  us  without  mercy.  We  fled 
in  every  direction :  but  there  were  the  cursed 
Cossacks  at  hand,  who  pursued  us  as  shep- 
herd dogs  pursue  the  scattered  sheep,  and 
drove  us  back  into  the  hands  of  the  peasants.*' 

"  But  the  first  fury  of  these  villains  was 
satisfied  ?" 

"  With  stripes  and  blows  they  collected  us 
together  in  a  body,  and  tied  us  together  like 
dogs,  driving  us  before  them.  We  trusted 
they  would  have  mercy  upon  us,  and  carry 
us  a,way  into  generous  captivity.  Woful 
mistake  !  Having  arrived  in  a  village,  about 
two  hours'  journey  from  the  road,  they  first 
stripped  us,  so  that  we  stood  half  naked  in 
the  piercing  cold.  They  then  thrust  us  all 
together  into  the  church.  Crowding  closely 
together,  we  strove  to  keep  each  other  warm. 
But  this  did  not  last  long ;  two  of  us  were 
taken  out  again.  Soon  after,  we  heard  the 
report  of  fire-arms,  in  single  discharges,  with 
considerable  intervals.  After  each  shot,  a 
wild  shout  seemed  to  rend  the  air.  At  first, 
we  could  not  comprehend  what  this  signified  ; 
but  when,  by  the  help  of  some  of  the  men,  I 
climbed  up  to  a  small  window,  I  saw — may 
the  devil  seize  the  rascals  ! — I  saw  they  had 
bound  our  comrades  to  a  tree,  and  were  firing 
at  them  as  at  a  target  /" 

Bernard  grew  pale. 

"  I  got  down  again,  and  betrayed  nothing ; 
for  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  to  help  us. 

"  '  Shooting  at  a  mark,'  said  I ;  '  nothing 
more.' 

"  But  it  rankled  in  my  breast.  The  door 
being  opened  again,  the  blood-hounds  led  out 
two  more  victims.  I  was  silent,  because  it 
would  presently  grow  dark,  and  I  hoped  to 
save  ourselves  during  the  night.  In  the  night 
we  broke  open  the  door  leading  to  the  tower, 
and  by  means  of  the  bell-rope  succeeded 
in  letting  ourselves  down.  The  sentinel  be- 
fore the  church  had  fallen  asleep.  1  plunged 
his  own  side-arm  into  his  heart ;  the^villain 
never  moved  a  muscle.  Then  I  threw  over 
me  the  fur  of  the  Russian,  and,  taking  his 
arms,  I  passed  on  to  the  guard-room,  at  th« 
end  of  the  village.  My  comrades  I  directed 
to  follow  me  in  silence.  Here  lay  all  the 
rascals  snoring,  and  beastly  drunk — peasaats 
and  Cossacks  all  mingled  together.  Their 
cloaks  and  furs  they  had  thrown  up  in  a  heap ; 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


319 


for  there  was  a  suffocating  heat  in  the  room. 
In  the  corner  there  stood  a  basket  of  bread 
ind  some  bottles  of  brandy.  My  first  thought 
was  retaliation  for  our  murdered  countrymen, 
by  burning  the  whole  together  ;  but  the  op- 
portunity now  being  favorable,  I  took  three 
of  the  men,  and  we  packed  up  as  many 
clothes  and  as  much  food  as  we  coold,  and 
carried  them  outside.  At  once  we  hastened 
away  with  our  treasures  to  a  neighboring 
thicket,  and  honestly  divided  the  spoil.  Our 
preparations  for  departure  were  speedy 
enougii;  but  the  peasants  must  have  dis- 
covered our  flight  betimes,  for  suddenly  they 
were  close  upon  us.  It  was  then  each  man 
for  himself.  We  fled  in  all  directions  whither- 
soever accident  might  lead.  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  a  thick  wood,  where  I  concealed 
myself  until  the  tumult  had  passed  by.  I  then 
struck  cautiously  in  the  direction  of  the  main- 
road.  As  long  as  it  was  dark  I  got  along 
prosperously  ;  but  at  daylight,  the  forest 
seemed  alive  with  Russian  scouring  parties ; 
and  I  had  to  resort  to  every  precautionary 
measure  to  enable  me  to  escape  their  obser- 
vation. Before  an  hour  had  passed,  they 
were  close  upon  my  heels.  I  soon  lost  all 
correct  notions  of  my  way,  and  despaired  of 
reaching  the  great  road.  But  I  hope  now, 
with  God's  help,  to  reach  Smolensko  this 
night  Hereafter  I  shall  take  good  care  to 
keep  in  the  ranks,  and  die  honorably  Hke  a 
soldier,  instead  of  a  prey  to  these  monsters 
in  human  form.  A  soldier  may  die  a  nobler 
death  than  as  a  target  for  boors  !" 

"  All  true  enough,  ray  worthy  friend,"  re- 
plied Bernard,  whom  the  food  he  had  swal- 
lowed had  wonderfully  restored ; "  and  I  wish 
you  all  success.  I  hope  to  gain  my  object, 
as  I  hope  you  will  obtain  yours.  Even  in  our 
precarious  position,  where  every  hour  is  full 
of  peril,  we  need  not  despair — not  even  if 
Death  should  be  staring  us  in  the  face.  He 
may  lay  his  hand  upon  us ;  but  we  can  leave 
him  our  cloak,  and  slip  out  unhurt." 

"  Aye,  aye,  comrade  ; — courage  must  sur- 
/ive.  But  what  were  you  saying  about  your 
object  ?  Where  are  you  bound  ? — onward  ?" 

"No." 

"  To  the  rear  ?  What,  back  again  among 
those  devils  ?     Are  you  crazy  !" 

"  Death  is  more  imminent  here  than 
there." 

"How  so?" 

Bernard  after  a  moment's  reflection  related 
his  story,  convinced  that  this  honest  soldier 
would  not  betray  him. 

"  Accursed  generation  of  vipers !  Venom- 
ous reptiles !  These  pen  and  ink  scoun- 
drels !"  Thus  did  the  honest  soldier  anathe- 
matize the  devoted  objects  of  His  hatred,  when 
Bernard  had  ended  his  narration.  "  But  all 
that  you  need  not  care  for.    Here  danger  j 


lurks  in  every  step  ;  for  the  enraged  peasants 
are  skulking  like  wolves  behind  every  treeu 
A  single  man  cannot  escape  ;  therefore,  I  ad- 
vise you  to  come  with  me  to  Smolensko. 
Who  knows  you  ?  You  can  put  on  my  fur 
dress.  Who  asks  now,  who  or  what  one  is  ? 
Each  has  enough  to  do  for  himself.  Have 
we  not,  alas !  thousands  of  stragglers  ?  Well, 
come  along  with  me.  I'll  carry  you  safe  in, 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Jean  Lacoste,  a  true 
Norman.  Come,  let  us  be  off:  It  is  getting 
dark ;  we  have  had  some  rest ; — the  nearer 
to  Prance  the  better  !" 

They  arose  and  walked  along  in  conversa- 
tion with  each  other.  Suddenly  they  heard 
the  sound  of  a  shrill  whistle  from  the  forest. 
Bernard  listened  in  alarm  :  but  Lacoste,  seiz- 
ing his  arm  and  drawing  him  hastily  forward, 
cried : 

"Run,  run  —  as  fast  as  your  legs  can 
carry  you ! — the  devils  are  close  upon  our 
heels !" 

Bernard  mechanic^py  followed  the  rapid 
stride  of  his  companion,  although  he  could 
not  yet  believe  in  the  imminent  danger — hav- 
ing never  until  now  been  a  witness  to  an 
hostile  surprise  of  this  nature. 

"  If  we  can  only  get  round  that  point,"  said 
Lacoste,  as  he  ran  along, "  we  can  throw  our- 
selves at  once  into  the  forest  on  our  left.  But 
it  is  confounded  unlucky  that  we  cannot 
reach  the  nearest  wood,  within  three  hundred 
yards — on  the  snow  they  see  us  too  well." 

The  whistling  was  repeated  from  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road. 

"  This  is  pretty  much  the  same  as  march- 
ing once  in  Calabria,  when  a  band  of  robbers 
fell  upon  us,"  exclaimed  Lacoste.  "  But 
these  fellows  are  much  worse.  I  had  rather 
see  a  dozen  wolves  behind  mc,  with  their 
hungry  jaws  agape,  than  a  Cossack's  horse 
in  my  rear.  But,  come  along ;  here's  the  fo- 
rest. How  slow  we  go — we  seem  to  crawl 
like  snails." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  friend,"  said  Ber- 
nard ;  "  everything  is  silent  as  death." 

"It  is  A  shame  to  be  afraid,"  murmured 
Lacoste  ;  "  but  I  can't  help  it.  Where  there 
is  nothing  to  be  won — not  even  honor — but 
all  to  be  lost,  then  indeed  peril  strikes  cold  to 
the  heart ;  and  one  may  be  apt  to  see  what 
only  imagination  pictures.  Now,  it  is  because 
to-day  I  have  seen  the  vagabonds  prowling 
about  for  their  prey,  like  wild  beasts,  be- 
hind every  tree  and  in  every  bush,  I  cannot 
help  thinking  there  is,  or  at  least  may  be,  a 
ferocious  peasant  or  plundering  Cossack." 

"  Now,  heaven  be  praised  !  we  have  reached 
the  point.  Let  us  edge  away  into  the  wood ; 
we  can  always  keep  in  the  direction  of  the 
road." 

Believing  themselves  to  be  safe,  they  slack- 
ened their  pace. 


S20 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR. 


"  Comrade,  you  have  a  gold  ring  on  your 
finger ;  take  care  that  it  is  not  too  tight," 
continued  Lacoste,  after  a  few  moments.  "  I 
can't  forget  that  I  saw  the  rascals  in  cold 
blood  cut  oflf  our  captain's  finger,  because 
the  ring  could  not  b«  easily  drawn  off.  We 
don't  know  what  may  happen  ;  so  you  had 
better  either  throw  it  away,  or  at  least  con- 
ceal it." 

The  apprehension  that  he  might  possibly 
lose  the  ring,  of  such  mysterious  interest  to 
him,  fell  heavily  upon  Bernard's  heart. 

"  Throw  it  away  I"  he  replied ;  "  I  cannot, 
for  it  is  infinitely  dear  to  me ;  and  where 
should  I  conceal  it,  that  avarice  may  not 
find  it  ?" 

"  That  can  easily  be  done.  You  have  long 
flowing  hair,  where  it  can  readily  be  con- 
cealed. Give  it  to  me ;  I  will  attach  it  to 
this  smooth  curl,  which  does  not  hang  so  low 
as  the  others." 

"  But,  is  it  safe  ?— will  it  not  slip  out  ?" 
afiked  the  anxious  owiAr. 

"  If  you  do  not  tear  out  the  lock  on  which 
it  hangs,  certainly  not ;  and  I'll  conceal  it  so 
deeply,  that  a  jackdaw,  taught  to  steal  gold, 
could  not  discover  it.     'Tis  true  the  fingers 

of  the  Cossacks  are the  Lord  preserve 

us  ! — what  is  this  ?    Do  you  hear  nothing  ?" 

This  interruption  of  his  remarks  was  sud- 
den. His  voice  fell  low  and  tremulous,  and 
be  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

Bernard  shook  his  head.  But  soon  after 
he  heard  a  distant  murmur,  as  of  a  group  of 
men  conversing  earnestly  with  each  other. 

"  Here  comes  one — step  aside  !"  whispered 
Lacoste. 

Saying  this,  he  cautiously  moved  into  the 
thicket,  Bernard  following  his  example. 

Scarcely  were  they  concealed,  than  a  troop 
of  ten  or  twelve  peasants,  armed  with  pikes, 
came  suddenly  in  sight.  The  fugitives  were 
alarmed — their  hearts  beating  violently.  But 
they  trusted  that  twilight  and  the  brushwood 
would  conceal  them.  At  this  moment,  a  dog 
made  his  way  through  the  snow,  and  stopping 
in  front  of  the  thicket,  began  to  bark.  The 
peasants,  hearing  him,  looked  cautiously 
around  them. 

"  Nothing  remains  for  us  now  but  flight, 
comrade — you  to  the  left,  I  myself  to  the 
right!"  exclaimed  Lacoste.  At  the  same 
moment  taking  a  leap  out  of  the  bushes,  and 
running  as  fast  as  his  strength  permitted,  he 
plunged  deeper  into  the  woods.  The  dog 
followed  his  track  with  a  loud  barking  ;  Ber- 
nard, obedient  to  the  direction  of  his  adroit 
companion,  took  as  rapidly  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. Without  looking  back,  he  hastened 
through  the  deep  snow  and  the  thick  brush- 
wood until  hie  breath  failed  him.  He  halted, 
and  listened  attentively  as  he  carelessly 
looked  about   him.      All  was   silent.    He 


heard  no  more  either  of  dogs  barking  or 
voices  of  men — only  the  fearful  rustling  of 
the  night-wind  through  the  tops  of  the  tall 
firs.  Cautiously  he  ventured  again  in  the 
direction  of  Smolensko,  because  he  hoped  tq 
meet  there  with  his  companion  in  misfortune. 
He  soon  regained  his  own  tracks  in  the  snow. 
These  he  followed  with  great  circumspection, 
fearing  the  presence  of  his  enemies.  But 
the  forest  appeared  entirely  desolate.  His 
track  led  him,  after  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour, 
to  the  spot  from  which  he  had  fled.  To  his 
delight  he  discovered  also  Lacoste's  foot- 
steps, and  he  indulged  the  hope  of  again 
finding  him.  Following  them  up,  he  soon 
saw  them,  to  his  grief,  mixed  with  many 
others — a  token  that  the  poor  fellow  had  been 
pursued.  For  a  considerable  distance  they 
penetrated  the  forest ;  then  it  appeared  that 
they  turned  back  in  the  former  direction. 
Bernard  was  irresolute :  he  reflected  upon 
the  prudence  of  following  the  track  out  of 
the  forest  into  the  open  road.  He  searched 
in  the  hope  of  discovering  Lacoste's  foot- 
steps alone,  leading  from  this  place  of  con- 
fusion further  into  the  forest.  But  he  found 
nothing  to  justify  his  hopes.  He  began  to 
fear  that  the  unhappy  man  had  fallen;  into, 
the  hands  of  his  enemies.  His  generous^ 
heart  bade  him  not  to  abandon  his  preserver 
so  long  as  he  had  the  power  to  search  with- 
out seriously  compromising  his  own  safety. 
Thus  he  followed  the  footsteps  that  led  to  the 
great  road — yet  with  great  caution,  and  atten- 
tively listening  to  catch  every  suspicious 
sound.  At  this  moment  he  thought  he  heard 
a  stifled  groan.  He  stopped  and  listened. 
The  moaning  was  repeated !  He  was  not 
mistaken;  a  living  being  must  be  near  at 
hand.  Inclining  his  head  forward,  he  made 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  Now  he  heard 
the  moaning  close  beside  him,  yet  he  saw  no- 
thing. The  snow  was  trampled  by  many 
steps ;  a  gigantic  pine  stood  a  few  paces  on 
one  side.  From  that  spot  the  grcfiining  came. 
Bernard  was  going  round  the  tree,  in  search 
of  the  object  of  his  solicitude,  when  on  a  sud- 
den he  started  back  with  an  involuntary  cry  of 
horror !  His  eyes  became  riveted  on  an  half- 
naked  and  blood-stained  body,  which  appeared 
to  be  fastened  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Mas- 
tering his  reluctance,  he  fearfully  approached 
this  object.  He  soon  discovered  that  the  miser- 
able being  was  transfixed  to  the  tree,"  and  was 
no  other  than  his  preserver  and  companion, 
Lacoste. 

"  Father  of  Mercies  !"  he  loudly  exclaimed, 
scarce  able  to  retain  bis  position.  "  Art  thou 
yet  alive,  my  friend  ?  and  cannot  I  save 
thee?"  The  dying  man  slightly  nodded  his 
head  in  token  of  his  recognition  of  Bernard, 
but  he  could  not  speak.  With  reluctance,  but 
yielding  to  necessity,  Bernard  seized  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


S91 


broken  shaft  of  a  pike,  which  was  driven 
throngh  the  shoulder  of  the  sufferer,  and  drew 
it  out.  But  a  second  passed  through  the  re- 
gion of  the  loins,  and  would  not  at  first  yield 
to  his  utmost  efforts;  finally  he  succeeded  in 
tearing  out  this  also.  This  being  effected, 
the  poor  wretch  fell  forward  on  his  knees. 
Bernard  caught  him  up  in  his  arms  and  gently 
lowered  him  upon  the  ground,  with  ftis  back 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  He 
breathed  deeply  only  twice ;  his  head  fell  for- 
ward heavily  upon  his  breast.  His  sufferings 
were  at  an  end  ! 

Bernard  held  him  yet  for  a  while  in  his 
arms,  encouraging  the  vain  hope  that  the 
passing  life  might  return.  But  all  in  vain. 
It  was  not  regret  for  the  loss  of  his  friend ;  it 
was  horror  at  the  mode  of  losing  him,  that 
racked  his  feelings.  Yet  holding  the  head  in 
his  lap,  he  fixed  his  motionless  eye  on  va- 
cancy ;  no  tear  escaped  him — he  uttered 
neither  sigh  nor  groan.  The  silence  was 
unbroken  around  him-,  even  the  wind  rustled 
no  longer  through  the  trees.  Dark  clouds 
lay  heavy  and  portentous  in  the  air.  Two 
ravens  alighted  on  the  loftier  branches  of  the 
pine  and  croaked  ominously,  as  awaiting 
their  prey. 

"  At  least,  you  shall  not  mutilate  this 
body !"  exclaimed  Bernard,  as  he  arose. 
With  such  aid  as  his  staff  could  render,  he 
opened  a  broad  furrow  under  the  pine  in  the 
deep  snow.  Then  he  arranged  the  hair  and 
clothes  of  the  dead  body.  Being  about  to 
button  the  shirt,  he  felt  something  sharp.  He 
discovered  that  the  zealous  soldier  had  fast- 
ened his  most  precious  treasure — the  cross  of 
the  legion  of  honor — on  the  inside  of  his  shirt 
with  a  needle.  "  It  is  now  thy  last  duty  to 
grace  the  sepulchre  of  a  soldier,"  he  said, 
apostrophising  the  valued  token  ;  "  albeit,  no 
mortal  eye  may  again  see  thee  !" 

He  now  hastened  to  dispose  of  the  body 
in  its  cold  resting-place,  and  roUetl  huge  mass- 
es of  snow  over  it,  until  they  formed  a  con- 
siderable hillock.  With  the  same  iron  that 
had  pierced  the  body  of  the  departed  soldier, 
he  affixed  the  ribband  and  cross  to  the  tree, 
immediately  above  the  grave,  that  it  might 
bear  honorable  testimony  of  the  termination 
of  a  soldier's  career. 

Bernard  folded  his  arms  in  sorrow,  as  he 
stood  awhile  beside  the  grave.  "  Here,  take 
thy  rest  now,  until  spring  shall  remove  this 
cold  shroud  and  call  up  flowers  around  thy 
mortal  remains.  Thou  didst  deserve  a  lees 
perishable  monument,  indeed — but  be  content ; 
here  no  man  obtains  a  worthier  !  Fare  thee 
well !" 

He  turned  from  the  melancholy  spot  and 
departed,  he  scarce  knew  whither.  His  reso- 
lution was  to  exert  his  every  energy  for  his 


safety — but  he  was  aware  of  the  perils,  and 
so  prepared  for  the  worst. 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

As  Louis,  with  his  fellow  prisoners,  was 
being  conducted  through  the  forest,  his  vigi- 
lance was  continually  on  the  alert  in  the  hope 
of  discovering  some  trace  of  Bernard.  He 
was  in  doubt  whether  he  had  more  to  hope  or 
to  fear.  It  would  have  been  an  invaluable 
consolation  to  him  to  share  his  joys  and  his 
griefs  with  him;  but  his  generosity  was 
proof  against  the  taint  of  self-love.  He  fos- 
tered the  secret,  although  feeble  hope,  that 
Bernard  had  been  more  fortunate  in  his  ef- 
forts to  escape,  and  would  soon  rejoin  Ra- 
sinski  and  friends. 

After  a  walk  of  about  one  hour  they  came 
upon  a  clear  space  surrounded  by  woods. 
Here  large  watch-fires  were  blazing,  around 
which  lay  groups  of  armed  peasants.  With 
astonishment  Louis  saw  many  women  among 
them,  whom  the  general  hatred  of  the  in- 
vaders had  divested  of  their  domestic  habits, 
and  inspired  with  contempt  of  exposure  and 
fatigue.  Some  were  preparing  victuals,  others 
cleaned  weapons,  and  an  elderly  i^iatron  was 
seen  in  close  attendance  upon  the  wounded. 

At  first  no  one  seemed  particularly  to  re- 
gard this  arrival.  But  when  they  perceived 
the  prisoners  that  were  brought  in,  curiosity 
was  excited,  and  they  collected  togetlier  to 
gaze  on  the  unfortunate  captives.  The  hope- 
lessness in  their  countenances  contrasted 
painfully  with  the  expression'  of  scorn  and 
wild  joy  of  the  conquerors.  Louis  needed 
all  his  nerve  to  enable  him  to  preserve  his 
serenity.  The  circumstance  that  he  was 
not,  as  th^  others,  stripped  of  his  clothing,  but 
still  covered  with  a  warm  cloak,  prevented 
him  at  least  from  trembling  with  cold,  and 
was,  therefore,  very  advantageous  to  him. 
But  his  garment  awakened  the  avarice  of  his 
enemies.  They  crowded  around  him,  and  their 
sentiments  were  but  too  easily  interpreted  by 
their  gesticulations,  and  claraor,and  increasing 
irritation.  At  length  a  large,  bearded  ruf- 
fian, who  might  well  indulge  the  proud  design 
of  seizing  the  lion's  share  of  the  plunder,  ap- 
proached him  and  endeavored  to  remove  the 
cap  from  his  head.  Louis  stepped  back  a 
few  paces,  and  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  de- 
fend himself  from  the  rude  attack  of  the 
Russian.  The  savage  in  an  instant  lifted 
his  formidable  cudgel  and  threatened  to  strike 
him.  And  this  he  would  indeed  have  done ; 
but  suddenly  there  arose  a  loud  cry  of  a  fe- 


t. 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


male  voice,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  noble 
form,  enveloped  in  costly  furs,  and  with  her 
face  veiled,  broke  through  the  circle  of  pea- 
sants an4  threw  herself  upon  the  Russian's 
raised  arm. 

The  boor  turned  hastily  round  ;  but  when 

he  discovered  who  it  was  that  arrested  the 

^  blow,  his  wrath  was  suddenly  changed  into 

'the  deepest  submission,  and  he  stepped  back 

with  servile  reverence. 

Louis  was  amazed  at  the  mystery  of  this 
new  rescue  from  impending  destruction, — it 
was  as  sudden  as  effective.  He  fixed  his 
looks  upon  his  preserver,  but  he  could  not 
utter  a  word  of  thanks.  She  stood  before 
him  awhile  unmoved,  scarcely  breathing — so 
deep  was  het  emotion — and  with  difficulty 
remaining  firm  on  her  feet.  Her  hands 
were  elevated,  and  folded,  as  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer.  At  length  she  threw  back  her 
veil ;  her  voice  was  soft  and  tremulous,  and 
scarcely  audible,  as  she  said, 

"  Do  you  recognise  me  ?" 

Had  an  angel  of  peace  suddenly  descended 
from  the  mercy-seat,  and  stood  in  radiance 
before  him,  Louis  could  not  have  been  more 
struck  with  awe.  He  fell  on  his  knees  be- 
fore the  long-lost  fiianca.  He  grasped  her 
hand  in  both  his  own,  and  bent  his  head  over 
it.  His  tears  streamed  apace — his  joy  was 
excessive. 

"  Thus  do  I  repay  thee  !"  said  she,  raising 
her  blue  eyes,  swimming  in  tears,  to  heaven. 
"Oh,  Almighty  Father!  thy  hand  directed 
my  steps !" 

The  people  who  stood  around  cgntempla- 
ted  the  group  in  grave  astonishment. 

"  What  is  the  matter  here  ?"  suddenly 
asked  a  rough,  manly  voice.  Louis  awoke 
at  once  from  his  blissful  trance  and  rose  to 
his  feet.  A  horseman  gallopped  into  the 
circle  ;  his  noble  steed  and  commanding  per- 
son denoted  a  man  of  rank. 

It  was  Count  Dolgorow. 

"  Oh,  my  father !"  exclaimed  Bianca  in  a 
passionate  tone,  "  behold  here  our  pre- 
server !" 

"  How  ?  who?"  asked  the  Count,  casting 
his  eager  eye  upon  Louis.  But  suddenly  he 
cut  short  his  surprise  by  exclaiming :  "  Thou 
here,  miserable  villain !"  And  at  a  leap  he 
descended  from  his  horse,  rushed  among  the 
mass  of  the  prisoners,  and  dragged  Beau- 
caire  from  among  them,  trembling  with  cold 
and  dismay. 

Dolgorow,  whom  revenge  aroused  more 
readily  than  gratitude,  had  grounds  for  this 
sudden  display  of  his  character.  In  England 
and  Italy,  where  Dolgorow  was  entrusted 
with  important  affairs,  Beaucaire  had  been  his 
secretary  and  secret  agent.  When  the  war 
of  the  year  1812  broke  out,  and  Napoleon  or- 
dered the  Russian  and  English  agents  in  all 


countries  to  be  rigidly  sought  after  and  a|>> 
prehended,  Dolgorow's  operations  were  de- 
tected. He  was  obliged  to  fly  hastily  and  in 
disguise  out  of  Rome.  Beaucaire  obtained  a 
passport  as  a  German  count,  Waliersheim. 
Feodorowna  assumed  the  name  of  Bianca,  and 
represented  herself  as  his  sister.  Dolgorow 
himself  was  described  as  an  old  servant ;  his 
wife  ad  the  governess  of  the  young  Count- 
ess. Thus  they  commenced  their  perilous 
journey.  In  Milan,  Beaucaire,  who  had  con- 
ceived a  coarse  passion  for  the  Count's 
daughter,  believed  he  enjoyed  a  favorable 
opportunity  for  accomplishing  his  object. 
He  ventured  to  make  proposals,  which  Feodo- 
rowna scornfully  rejected,  and  which  inflam- 
ed her  father's  wrath,  nothwithstanding  the 
extreme  peril  of  his  position.  He  inflicted 
chastisement  upon  the  knave,  and  dismissed 
him  with  ignominy.  Beaucaire  lost  not  a 
moment  in  betraying  him.  But  the  Count 
had  anticipated  the  traitor ;  he  was  prepared 
to  fly  speedily,  and  changed  his  route  by 
keeping,  instead  of  through  Verona  to  In- 
spruck,  the  road  over  the  Simplon.  There 
Louis  had  met  with  them.  The  Preserver 
and  the  Traitor  had  now  at  the  same  time 
alike  fallen  into  his  hands.  The  hour  of  re- 
payment had  come. 

"Holy  Father!    How  strange  a  fate!" 
exclaimed  Feodorowna,  when  her  eye  fell 
upon  the  miserable  wretch,  whom  Dolgorow, ' 
in  spite  of  his  struggling,  tore  from  out  the 
trembling  mass. 

Beaucaire  saw  her  now  also,  and  in  an 
agony  of  despair,  tearing  himself  loose,  he 
fell  down  at  her  feet.  Convulsively  he 
clasped  her  knees,  exclaiming  :  "  Have  pity 
on  me.  Countess ;  intercede  for  me !  •  My 
love  for  you — and  that  alone,  has  been  my 


rum 


I" 


Bianca  was  indeed  moved  with  compas- 
sion for  the  trembling  wretch,  and  raised  an 
imploring  Ibok  towards  her  father.  But  his 
wrath  was  inexorable. 

"  Seize  him,  and  cast  him  into  the  flames, 
that  every  Russian  may  see  how  a  traitor  is 
punished !"  he  roared. 

Bianca  was  petrified  with  terror.  Beau- 
caire, in  the  agony  of  his  desperation,  clnng 
the  more  tenaciously  to  her  feet,  endeavor- 
ing to  conceal  his  head  in  her  lap.  She 
would  have  fallen,  had  not  Louis  hastily  ad- 
vanced to  her  assistance  and  sustained  her. 

"  Do  your  duty !"  shouted  the  enraged 
nobleman.    "  Tear  him  away  from  the  Prin- 


cess 


I" 


Upon  this'  two  men  readily  sprang  ont 
from  the  crowd,  and  seized  the  doomed  man 
by  hil  hair ;  two  others  seized  his  feet,  and 
a  Cossack,  unsheathing  his  knife,  drew  its 
keen  edge  deep  across  his  hands,  which 
would  retain  their  hold  of  Bianca's  dress. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA, 


SS3 


'  No  sooner  was  the  wound  inflicted  than  the 
hands  relaxed  their  grasp.  Amid  insults 
and  execrations  of  the  bloodthirsty  peasants, 
,  he  was  forcibly  dragged  to  his  doom.  His 
cries  and  his  prayers  were  alike  unheeded  ; 
his  torment  was  enjoyed  by  his  savage  exe- 
cutioners ;  and  the  mob,  ever  ready  to  en- 
courage and  participate  in  deeds  of  violence, 
*  followed  their  despairing  victim. 

"  Watch  the  other  prisoners  !"  said  Dol- 
gorow,  and  hastily  etrode  through  the  people, 
who  respectfully  gave  way,  towards  the 
'  place  where  his  terrible  sentence  was  to  be 
executed.  Bianca  bad  reclined  her  head 
upon  Louis'  shoulder. '  A  strange  mixture 
of  horror  and  delight  filled  his  soul.  A  sud- 
den shout  rose  high  in  the  air.  Involun- 
tarily he  directed  his  eye  to  the  dreadful 
spot  He  saw  Beaucaire  raised  above  the 
heads  of  the  mob — bis  face  distorted  as  in  the 
agony  of  unutterable  torments.  In  vain 
were  his  bloody  arms  thrown  in  frantic  en- 
ergy around.  His  savage  tormentors  cast 
him  headlong  into  the  glowing  fire.  A  fear- 
ful cry  arose  over  the  deep  murmuring  of  the 
spectators.  It  entered  deep  into  Bianca's 
heart;  she  shrank  aghast  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  wretch's  sufferings.  She 
hid  her  face  on  Louis'  breast.  He  also 
stood  motionless  and  speechless  with  unimag- 
inable terror.  He  was  scarce  able  to  turn 
away  his  eyes  from  the  fearful  spectacle, 
and  not  much  less  wa^  he  afllected  when 
they  rested  on  the  pale  features  of  Bianca. 

The  tumult  around  the  fire  subsided,  and 
was  succeeded  by  a  fearful  silence.  Bianca 
recoiled  from  the  sight  of  the  theatre  of  that 
terrible  tragedy.  She  looked  upward,  and 
her  eyes  rested  upon  the  noble  features  of 
Louis,  made  more  definable  by  the  emotion 
therein  depicted.  Here  her  feelings  were 
more  intensely  centered.  Her  life  indeed 
did  not  betray  the  secret  of  her  heart,  which 
then  perhaps  for  the  first  time  she  had  truly 
discovered — but  it  was  too  plainly  revealed 
in  the  beaming  eye.  Louis  devoutly  believed 
in  the  mysterious  ordinations  of  Providence, 
and  in  Bianca,  at  this  moment,  be  saw  only 
bis  destined  companion  for  life.  He  could 
not  but  recognise  that  marvellous  interposi- 
tion whereby  they  now  met  once  more.  He 
presumed  to  interpret  her  look  as  auspicious 
evidence  ;  and  he  would  have  addressed  her, 
had  not  Dolgorow  at  that  moment  returned 
from  witnessing  his  judicial  sentence,  and 
interposed  his  authority.  He  bent  a  search- 
ing look  upon  his  daughter,  as  if  it  appeared 
to  him  that  her  too  obvious  agitation  might 
have  its  origin  in  something  more  nearly 
and  deeply  interesting  to  herself  than  the 
fearful  punishment  of  Beaucaiifc. 

"Princess  Ochalskoi,"  (and  he  spoke 
haughtily  and  coldly,)  "  I  have  not  forgotten 


the  circumstances  under  which  we  contract- 
ed our  obligations  to  this  young  man.  Bat 
perhaps  our  account  is  at  last  balanced, 
since  I  see  him  here,  an  enemy  of  Russia, 
and  among  the  invaders  who  have  dared  to 
violate  the  soil  of  our  country.  But  a  Rus- 
sian is  generous.  It  shall  be  my  duty,  young 
man,  to  see  you  safely  restored  to  your  own 
people.  But  should  you  fall  a  second  time 
into  my  hands,  the  fate  of  all  other  captives 
will  be  yours ; — death,  or  perpetual  captivity 
in  the  mines  of  Siberia." 

Louis'  pride  was  awakened  by  the  haughty 
demeanor  of  Dolgorow;  but  suppressing  it, 
he  replied  :  "  If  you  send  me  back  to  the 
French  army,  my  death  is  certain,  and  you 
yourself  will  be  its  cause." 

"  How  is  this  ?"  demanded  Dolgorow,  with 
interest, 

"  What  I  did  for  you  on  the  Italian  fron- 
tier was  in  ray  own  country  adjudged  by  the 
French  authorities  a  crime  meriting  death. 
I  was  proscribed  ;  deprived  of  all  power  of 
making  my  escape  by  flight;  the  only  re- 
maining alternative  was  accepting  the  aid 
of  a  noble  friend,  and  entering  the  army. 
This  very  morning  I  was  about  to  sufl^r 
death,  pursued  and  betrayed  by  the  miserable 
being  who  has  even  now  undergone  the 
dreadful  punishment  of  his  crime,  A  sudden 
attack  by  your  people  saved  me.  But  a 
dear  friend " 

Dolgorow  interrupted  him :  "  If  you  speak 
the  trutii,  you  are  justified,  and  I  believe 
you.  In  this  case  you  will  take  care.  Prin- 
cess, that  our  preserver  be  carried  to  the 
castle,  Solanow  is  to  guide  you.  My  duties 
will  for  the  present  keep  me  here,  but  I  shall 
join  you  as  soon  as  possible.  But  go  now 
and  apprise  the  Countess  of  our  situation," 

Bianca  obeyed,  and  accompanied  by  two 
servants,  took  her  way  to  a  kind  of  a  hut, 
erected  behind  the  camp-fires, 

"  We  shall  soon  meet  again,"  be  said,  ap- 
proaching Louis,  and  bowing  politely.  Her 
look  pierced  him  to  the  heart;  she  smiled 
sadly  and  hopefully,  while  a  lofty  benignity, 
as  in  the  countenance  of  a  saint,  bean^  on 
her  features.  With  respect  he  bowed  bis 
head  ;  in  raising  it  again  he  saw  the  noble 
form,  as  a  vision  from  on  high,  passing 
through  the  ranks  of  the  peasants,  who  rev- 
erentially did  obeisance,  as  in  duty  bound,  to 
their  chieftain's  daughter. 

Dolgorow  would  have  departed,  but  Louis 
detained  him. 

"  I  must  yet  further  intreat  your  kind  ofl5- 
ces  for  a  friend,  who  has  perhaps,  as  I  have, 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  your  people.  He 
has  been  my  preserver,  and  has  thus  brought 
upon  himself  the  wrath  of  the  French  author- 
ities ;  he  was  to  have  been  shot  with  me  this 
morning,  but  was,  with  me,  saved  by  your 


;984 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDREP  AND  TWELVE  ;  OR, 


people.    He  escaped  the  French  soldiers,  but 
may  have  fallen  a  captive  to  the  Cossacks." 

"  If  he  does  fall  into  our  hands,  he  shall 
be  brought  to  you,"  said  Dolgorow ;  "  but  by 
what  name  is  he  known  ?" 

«  Count  Lomond  is  the  name  under  which 
he  entered  the  service,  and  which  he  also 
now  will  continue  to  use." 

"  I  shall  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
on  his  account." 

A  greyheaded  soldier  of  about  sixty,  wear- 
ing the  uniform  and  beard  of  a  Russian,  but 
resembling  a  German  in  features,  approached 
Dolgorow,  and  bowing  respectfully,  made 
some  request. 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  Dolgorow ;  "  if  you  be- 
lieve you  have  found  a  countryman,  Solanow, 
speak  to  him." 

« My  dear  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  in  the 
€rennan  language,  to  Louis,  "  permit  me  to 
ask  you  a  question.  I  think  I  can  trace  in 
you  a  resemblance  to  one  before  known  to 
me.     Is  your  name  Steinfels  ?" 

"Wliat?"  exclaimed  Louis,  betraying  ex- 
treme astonishment,  as  he  recognised  the 
name  as  the  same  with  that  used  in  Mary's 
letter.  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?"  he  stammered 
forth. 

"  I  served  a  German  master  of  that  name," 
said  the  old  soldier,  "  it  is  true  he  is  long 
since  dead,  but  when  I  see  before  me  his 
image,  like ^" 

"  When  and  where  did  he  die  ?"  exclaimed 
Louis,  hastily  interrupting  the  old  man. 

"  The  sea  has  swallowed  him.  We  were 
once  imprisoned  at  Paris,  but  we  made  our 
escape  to  Havre,  and  got  on  board  a  Dutch 
vessel." 

«  When  was  that?"  asked  Louis,  in  breath- 
less suspense. 

"  Eighteen  years  ago." 

"  Because  of  a  duel  ?" 

"Yes." 

"That  was  my  father!"  exclaimed  Louis 
wholly  overwhelmed.  He  seized  the  hands 
of  the  soldier,  who  stood  before  him  trem- 
bling and  irresolute.     "  And  who  art  thou  ?" 

"  A  simple  man,  dear  sir,"  replied  the  old 
man,  as  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks ;  "  I 
was  only  his  groom — ^Willhofen  is  my  true 
name." 

"Honest,  faithful  servant!"  exclaimed  Louis, 
"and  here  I  find  thee?  And  my  father  is 
really  dead?" 

"Doubtless  long  ago!  We  were  ship- 
wTCcked  in  the  North  Sea ;  the  sea  swallow- 
ed most  of  us.  A  few,  I  myself  among 
them,  were  saved  ;  the  captain  of  a  Russian 
vessel  picked  us  up." 

Here  the  old  man  hesitated,  signifying  by 
a  side  glance  that  he  was  not  allowed  to 
speak  more.  But  Louis  guessed  the  fate  of 
the  unfortunate  captives. 


Dolgorow  had  in  the  meantime  repaired  to 
the  other  prisoners,  to  examine  them.  They 
stood  trembling  before  him;  most  of  tiiem 
were  young  soldiers. 

"  Are  there  any  (lermans  among  you  V* 
asked  he  loudly. 

Louis  heard  the  question  and  listened ;  he 
Waited  for  the  answer,  feeling  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  endeavor  to  effect  the  liberation  of 
his  countrymen.    But  no  answer  was  given. 

Count  Dolgorow  arrested  the  attention  of 
the  soldier  Willhofen. 

"  The  prisoners  now  delivered  over  to 
your  charge  are  to  be  conveyed  to  the  castle, 
and  probably  yet  further.  They  are  service- 
able. For  the  others  we  have  neither  place 
nor  food — an  ounce  of  lead  will  remove  all 
difficulties." 

There  were  twenty-one  captives  doomed 
to  slavery.  Only  one  was  set  aside  as  too 
old  for  work.    This  was  SL  Luces. 

Not  having  understood  the  Count's  words, 
St.  Luces  fancied  that  from  his  appearance 
and  fine  linen,  and  from  his  clothes  (of  which, 
however,  he  was  by  tliis  time  pretty  well 
stripped,)  his  captors  had  discovered  him  to 
belong  to  the  higher  classes.  The  pallid 
horror  which  had  spread  over  his  features 
since  the  terrible  fate  of  Beaucaire,  was  re- 
placed by  a  fiiint  gleam  of  hope.  He  ven- 
tured to  address  the  Count  in  French. 

"  I  trust,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  sliall  be  treated  in 
conformity  with  those  laws  of  war  which  all 
civilised  nations  respect.  I  am  not  a  mili- 
tary man,  but  belong  to  the  civil  service ;  my 
rank " 

"  You  are  a  Frenchman,"  sternly  inter- 
rupted Dolgorow — "  one  of  those  vampires 
who  have  sucked  the  blood  and  marrow  out 
of  half  the  nations  of  Europe;  more  con- 
temptible and  odious  than  the  soldier,  for  he, 
at  least,  fights  with  fair  and  open  weapons." 

"  They  would  willingly,"  persisted  St.  Lu- 
ces, again  trembling  with  apprehension,  "  ex- 
change me  against  Russian  prisoners !" 

"Prisoners!  what  prisoners  have  you?" 
cried  Dolgorow,  with  bitter  scorn.  "  Thou- 
sands, certainly,  are  set  down  in  your  bulle- 
tins, but  wliere  can  you  show  them  ?  You  do 
wrong  to  remind  me  of  that.  Think  you 
we  know  not  how  your  ruthless  assassin 
bands  have  treated  the  few  who  fell  into 
their  hands  ?  Think  you  we  have  not  found 
them  lying  with  shattered  skulls  upon  the 
roads  in  rear  of  your  flying  columns  ?  Did 
we  not  meet  with  them  shut  up  in  churches, 
bams,  and  stables,  dead  in  the  pangs  of 
famine?  Away  with  ye!  We  shall  find 
enough  to  exchange,  when  exchange  we 
will.'"* 


*  "  Upon  the  evening  of  this  long  day's  inarch,  the 
imperial  column  approaching  Gjatz  was  surprised  to  find 
upon  tine  load  ttle  tradiea  of  RuMiuis  quite  recently 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


235 


In  the  meantime,  Solanow,  or  Willhofen, 
had  well  scriuinized  tiie  feHtiires  of  the 
trembling  unTortunatP.  He  whispered  a  few 
Russian  words  to  Dolgorow,  and  then  ad- 
dressfd  the  prisoner : 

"  What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"  I  am  the  Buron  Rnmigny  de  St.  Lnces." 

"  Rnmigny  !"  exclaimed  Willhofen,  his 
features  assuming  an  expression  of  sudden 
indignation.  "  Father  of  Heaven  !  Tny  ven- 
geance does  not  slumber!"  he  exclaimed, 
elevating  his  hands  towards  heaven:  "Vil- 
lain  that   thou   art,   dost  thou    know  me  ? 

Hast  thou  forgotten  that  thou but  hold — 

here — look  here  ?    Knowest  thou  this  man  ?" 

He  hastened  forthwitti  to  Louis,  and  drew 
him  hastily  towards  Rumigny,  saying : 

"  Steinfels  is  his  name  !  The  dead  arise  to 
avenge  themselves !  'I'his  is  the  murderer 
of  your  father,  the  murderer  of  the  excellent 
Waldheim — and  lo  !  the  hour  of  retribution 
is  at  hand." 

The  eyes  of  the  despairing  wretch  were 
fixed  upon  Louis,  and  he  strove  to  speak, 
but  language  failed  him.  Louis  was  moved 
with  the  deepest  awe  at  this  partial  solution 
of  a  great  mystery.  For  a  moment  his  an- 
ger fiercely  boiled  within  him — but  his  more 
generous  nature  soon  regaitjed  its  ascend- 
ency. It  was  oniy  pity  that  filled  hi-*  breast, 
when  he  contemplated  the  wretch,  tortured 
by  the  expectation  of  death  and  by  remors^e, 
and  broken  down  under  the  weight  of  liis 
guilt. 

"Willhofen,"  said  Loui?,  addressing  the 
old  soldier;  "  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the 
Lord  !  Let,  therefore,  the  Almighty  accom- 
plish his  own  work.  It  is  our  duty  to  for- 
give." 

A  tear  stood  in  the  eye  of  the  veteran  but 
he  remained  silent. 


Mliiin,  hII  with  their  heads  cloven  in  the  same  nnnner, 
nnd  with  their  hrninsi  scattered  aniiind.  It  was  knnwn 
IhHt  two  thniismid  prisoners  preceded  the  cottinin, 
escorted  l)y  Spaniard.s.  Portuguese  and  l'ole<.  Various 
opinions  were  emitted  ;  some  were  indignant,  otlicrs 
iip|)roved  or  remained  indilTercnt,  Hccordlng  to  ihc 
character  of  each.  Around  the  Emjieror  these  different 
iiii,)ressions  found  no  voice,  until  Caulainconrt  hnrst 
out  and  exclainied,  'that  it  was  an  atrocious  cruelty. 
This,  then,  is  the  civiltzition  we  bring  to  Rn<!<ia  ! 
What  clfect  would  this  liarbarily  liwe  upon  the  en- 
emy ?  Did  we  not  leave  him  our  wounded  and  a  host 
of  prisoners  f  Would  he  lack  the  opportunity  of  hor- 
rible reprisals'?'  Najio'eon  maintained  a  glooniv  silence, 
but  upon  the  morrow  these  murders  had  ceased.  The 
unfortunate  prisoners  were  allowed  to  ilie  of  hunger  in 
the  enclosures  into  which,  at  niuht,  they  were  huddled 
like  cnttle.  Doubtless  it  was  still  a  hirlnrity;  but 
what  could  be  done  ■?  Exchange  them  ?  The  enemy 
refused.  Set  Ihem  free  t  They  would  have  hastened 
to  proclaim  oar  destitution,  and  soon  they  would  have 
retarned  with  their  cnnipanions  to  harass  our  rnnrch. 
In  this  ung|Mrini!  war  to  have  given  them  life  w(mld 
have  been  to  sacrifice  ourselves.  We  were  cruel  froui 
necessity.  Thefmili  was,  to  have  ever  P'ltced  ourselves 
in  lo  terrible  nn  alternative. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  during  our  march  into  the  inte- 
rior of  Rnssia,  our  captive  soldiers  were  not  tresteii 
more  liumanely,  although  the  Russians  had  nut  iiupe- 
rktiu  necessity  for  ancxcu>«.''—  &gur. 


Louis  would  have  made  some  intercession 
with  Dolgorow,  but  with  astern  lebuke  the 
Count  cut  nhorthis  prayer. 

*'  Here  ilie  law  must  take  its  course  I"  he 
said  firmly,  "if  the  prisoner  has  at  any 
lime  done  you  a  wrong,  your  forgiveness 
may  benefit  him  herc;atter,  but  here  it  can 
be  of  no  service  to  him." 

He  nodded  to  a  Cos»ack  near  him  and  ut- 
tered a  few  Russian  words.  The  wretched 
prisoner  whose  frame  now  appeared  to  be 
utterly  paralysed,  was  instantly  conveyed 
away. 

A  brief  pause  ensued — then  was  heard  a 
sharp  ffolley,  announcing  the  termination  of 
a  guilty  career,  which  Louis  did  not  desire, 
but  could  nut  lament. 


CHAPTER  LXXr. 

Dolgorow  mounted  his  charger,  and  col- 
lecting all  his  men  capable  of  bearing  arms, 
put  hin:oelf  at  their  head  and  net  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  main  road.  Willhofen  and 
four  pt^iisants  with  apuars  remained  on  guard 
ov'er  the  prisoners,  wlio  were  allowed  lo  warm 
themselves  by  the  great  fire.  An  allowance 
of  bread  and  brandy  was  distributed  among 
them.  Louis'  hi)pes  were  bent  on  aguio 
seeing.  Bianca.  He  therotore  usked  Willho- 
fen what  would  be  their  next  step. 

"  We  must  await  here  the  commands  of 
the  Princess,  who  is  yonder  with  the  sick 
Countess  in  the  hut,"  answered  he.  "  She 
is  probably  expecting  the  return  of  the  sledge 
which  has  carried  some  wounded  men  to  the 
village." 

The  designation  of  "  Princess"  had  already 
before  this  affected  Louis  painfully.  He 
>isked :  '•  Is  the  Princess  then  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Count?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Willhofen,  "  but  mar- 
ried the  Prince  Ochalskoi." 

"  Married  !"  exclaimed  Louis,  and  he  grew 
pale. 

'•  And  be'ter  for  havinjbeen  so,"  continued 
Wtllhofen,  "  for  the  Prince  is  dead.  I  be- 
lieve, between  ourselves,  it  was  but  half  a 
marriatre  afier  all.  For  on  that  very  even- 
ing, the  casile  was  surprised  by  the  French  ; 
and  in  the  attack  the  Prince  received  a  mor- 
tal wouni  of  which  he  died  at  Mo.scow." 

Louis'  attention  was  intensely  arrested. 

"  Here  on  this  spot  in  the  forest  I  was 
obliged  to  conceal  him  for  a  short  time,  nnlil 
we  obtained  a  wagon  to  convoy  him  and  his 
young  bride  to  his  hunting  chateau." 

"  Here  ? — here  ?"  said  Loaia,  interrupting 
the  narrative. 


»6 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


"  Just  here  ;  for  the  castle  is  situated  at 
DO  great  distance  ;  the  high  trees  aloue  in- 
tercept the  view  of  it :  There,  yonder — — " 
"When  was  the  attack  made  by  the  French?'' 
"  On  the  seventeenth  of  August ;  I  remem- 
ber it  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday." 

"Merciful  Father!"  exclaimed  Louis, 
throwing  himself  upon  his  knees  in  a  parox- 
ysm of  excitement ;  "  Great  Disposer  of  hu- 
man events !  who  will  murmur  against 
Thee  !  Accept  my  warmest,  purest  thanks  ! 
Prove  me,  Father,  even  with  Thy  chastening 
rod,  prove  me,  and  I  shall  not  relinquish  my 
hope  and  trust  in  Thee  !  Despair  shall  not 
enter  into  my  thoughts,  for  wonderfully  hast 
Thou  hitherto  watched  over  me  and  guided 
me  !  Thou  wilt  accomplish  all  things  in  Thy 
wisdom  and  to  Thy  eternal  Glory  .'" 

Willhofen  witnessed  the  fervency  of  this 
prayer  with  astonishment.  He  supposed  it 
to  originate  in  some  secret  desire  connected 
with  his  present  situation — but  be  dared  not 
attempt  to  penetrate  the  mystery. 

When  Louis  arose  and  paced  to  and  fro 
with  much  animation,  Willhofen  approached 
him  and  seized  his  hand. 

"  Piety  is  a  treasure  of  great  price,  dear  sir," 
he  said,  "  and  1  trust  your  prayer  may  be 
heard.  1  have  myself  often  prayed  fervently  to 
the  Lord,  and  I  hope  he  will  hear  me  also. 
Has  he  not  already  brought  me  back  from  the 
distant  region  of  Asia,  where  I  was  lost  as  a 
serf  of  Prince  Ochalskoi,  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  my  own  country,  and  to  the  presence 
of  the  son  of  my  old  master  ?  And  now  your 
interest  with  the  Count  is  such,  that  I  trust 
your  prayer  may  prevail  on  him  to  grant  me 
my  liberty.     Will  you  not  intercede  ?" 

"  Certainly  !"  said  Louis,  and  pledged  his 
hand  on  the  promise.  "But  what  did  you  say  ? 
a  serf  to  the  Prince  ?" 

"  Yes,  truly ;  but  his  possessions  have  now, 
bytbe  contract  of  marriage,  fallen  to  the 
Count.  Ah,  if  it  depended  on  the  Princess, 
to  give  me  my  liberty,  then  would  I  have  pro- 
cured it  long  since.  To  the  Count  Dolgorow 
I  have  not  yet  presumed  to  offer  my  petition." 
A  servant  approached  and  spoke  to  Will- 
hofen. 

"  The  Countess  Dolgorow  requires  your 
immediate  attendance,"  said  Willhofen. 
"  Follow  this  man,  be  will  guide  you." 

Louis  followed  the  servant,  not  without 
solicitude.  They  walked  over  to  a  hut, 
hastily  constructed  of  pine  branches,  fiianca 
came  out  to  meet  him  ;  she  was  friendly,  but 
melancholy  could  be  traced  on  her  features. 
"  I  shall  lead  you  to  my  mother,"  said  she 
in  an  under-tone :  "  You  have  already  made 
her  acquaintance  upon  our  flight  out  of  Italy. 
Do  not  be  ofTended  by  the  perhaps  too  cold 
and  formal  reception  you  may  meet  with.  In 
this  country  the  freedom  of  social  intercourse, 


unlike  Germany,  is  but  little  known ;  here 
rank  takes  precedence  over  all,  and  the  na- 
tional pride  and  hatred  against  strangers  are 
at  this  moment  both  so  powerfully  aroased, 
that  scarce  even  the  warm  instincts  of  gra^ 
titude  can  rise  superior  to  their  claims." 

"  Gratitude  ?"  replied  Louis.  "  Who 
ought  to  l>e  grateful  here  ?  You,  to  whom 
I  scarcely  rendered  a  service,  and  if  so,  in  it- 
self the  most  auspicious  incident  of  my  life  ; 
or  I,  that  owe  you  all — all !" 

"  You  appear  to '  desire  to  balance  our  ac- 
count by  assuming  a  reciprocity  of  services," 
said  the  Princess.  "  You  refer  probably  to 
your  escap^  from  the  fate  of  perishing,  as 
those  two  unhappy  wretches  have  perished  ?'* 
"  Should  I  also,"  answered  Louis  after 
some  hesitation, "  be  unmindful  of  the  warn<- 
ing  I  received  at  Moscow  ?" 

"  So  you  haye  recognised  me  by  my  to- 
ken ?"  said  Feodorowna,  with  an  indescrib- 
able grace. 

"  Could  I  ever  forget !"  replied  he,  auda- 
ciously. 

A  slight  blush  overspread  the  pale  features 
of  the  lady.  Allowing  the  lashes  ot  tier  eyes 
almost  to  close :  she  said  softly, 

"And  I  also  cannot  forget  the  few  hours  of 
happiness  we  once  passed  together.  Oh  !  why 
did  you  leave  us  so  soon — so  abruptly  ?" 

"  Do  you  imagine  it  to  have  been  ray 
choice  V  exclaimed  Louis.  "  Oh,  no  !  do  me 
not  that  injustice  !-— an  evil  genius  parted  us. 
He  led  my  steps  astray.  Too  late  I  must  have 
reached  the  banks  of  the  Rhone." 

"  My  father  urged  us  on  with  haste,"  said 
Feodorowna.  "1  endeavored  by  some  token — '* 
"Oh,  I  found  it,"  said  Louis,  interrupting 
her,  and  at  the  same  instant  he  tenderly  but 
cautiously  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "  Yet 
it  was  after  a  long  night  of  hopeless  anxiety 
and  watchfulness  that  the  morning  star  of 
hope  once  more  arose  before  my  sight.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  moment  when  I  saw 
this  ribbon,  blooming  as  a  rose  among  the 
branches.  Even  to  this  very  hour  I  l»ar  it 
next  my  heart.     Here  it  is  !" 

A  tear  of  joy  filled  the  eye  of  the  lady,  as 
she  recognised  the  token  of  her  wanderings 
in  the  hands  of  her  lover. 

"  We  retired  immediately  beyond  the 
river,  and  entered  a  perilous  road  through 
the  mountains." 

The  Princess  endeavored  in  vain  to  con- 
trol her  too  apparent  emotion. 

"  And  I  thought  myself  on  the  same  path, 
as  I  pursued  my  way  up  the  valley  and  over 
the  Gothard.  I  was  continually  searching 
for  some  trace  of  you,  until  in  Germany  that 

inauspicious  paper " 

"  Did  then  my  last  farewell  find  you  after 
all  ?"  said  Feodorowna,  not  without  a  smile 
of  internal  satisfaction. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


217 


«*  It  was  indeed  the  bitterest  cup  ever  pre- 
sented to  ray  lips  by  the  hand  of  adver- 
sity. 

**  Yet  has  Providence  blessed  it — we  must 
be  grateful,"  replied  Peodorowna,  religiously 
acknowledging  the  Divine  mercy.  "I  could 
not  then  have  believed  that  we  should  again 
meet,  but  now  we  must  recognise  the  over- 
ruling power  that  directs  the  varied  course 
of  our  lives  !" 

"  Truly,  a  wonderful  power !"  exclaimed 
Louis,  in  a  transport  of  gratitude.  "  Oh  !  if 
you  had  but  known  how  near  I  have  been 
to  you  in  the  meantime  !" 

Bianca  looked  surprised. 

"  At  Moscow,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  No,  not  far  from  hence.  I  was  at  the 
storming  of  that  castle." 

"  You,  yourself!"  exclaimed  she,  looking 
at  him  with  an  expression  of  doubt.  She 
raised  her  eyes  and  hands  towards  heaven, 
and  poured  out,  the  intensity  of  her  feelings. 

"Almighty  Father  in  lieaven ! — how  could 
I  for  a  moment  doubt  thy  grace  !  Oh  !  you 
do  not  know,"  she  continued,  turning  to 
Louis,  "  you  cannot  guess  from  what  an  un- 
happy fate  that  irruption  redeemed  me ! — 
But,"  she  added,  hastily  and  cautiously,  "  for 
heaven's  sake,  keep  your  own  secret ;  let  it 
not  be  known  to  any  living  being  that  you 
were  present  on  that  fatal  night ; — there  is 
one  who  would  never  forgive  it." 

Thus  speaking,  they  entered  the  hut.  Upon 
a  couch  Louis  saw  the  Countess  Dolgorow, 
whose  features,  although  sickness  and  sorrow 
had  somewhat  disfigured  them,  he  recognised 
instantly. 

She  looked  upon  him  with  far  less  of  kind- 
ness than  patrician  condescension. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  in  grave  and  mea- 
sured language, "  that  we  find  an  opportunity 
of  recompensing  the  service  you  rendered  us 
in  Italy ;  although  I  am  sorry  to  find  you 
amongst  those  who  have  brought  the  horrors 
of  war  into  our  country." 

"  On  that  point,  may  it  please  your  lady- 
ship," said  Louis,  proudly,  "  I  believe  I  have 
already  sufficiently  justified  myself." 

"  You  may  now  enjoy  the  opportunity  of 
cqpnpensating  your  compulsory  error.  God 
has  conquered  the  armies  of  the  enemy — ruin 
is  bursting  over  them — the  just  cause  pre- 
vails. It  depends  now  on  yourself  alone  to 
partake  in  the  victory." 

Louis  was  silent  for  some  moments.  His 
answer  was  tranquil  and  resolute. 

"  You  will  allow  me.  Countess,  to  attempt 
the  justification  of  my  resolution.  I  myself 
believe  the  cause  of  RussiaUo  be  just.  It  was 
only  with  reluctance  I  took  part  in  the  con- 
flict against  her.  I  have  done  nothing  more 
than  the  honor  of  a  man  and  of  a  soldier, 
who  has  made  his  choice  of  a  profession,  re- 


quired. As  an  individual,  I  could  neither  re- 
sist nor  direct  the  course  of  martial  events. 
This  acquits  me  of  all  personal  responsibility 
to  this  country.  Perhaps  nobody  in  the 
whole  army  wished  the  war ;  therefore, 
should  no  single  soldier  be  required  to  repre- 
sent the  general  wrong.  He  could  not  avert, 
and  should  not  be  made  to  atone  for  the  evil. 
To  the  noble  leader,  under  whose  protection 
I  had  put  myself — to  my  dear  companions  in 
arms,  my  sentiments  were  not  unknown  :  but 
honoring  them,  they  so  spared  me  in  this  deli- 
cate matter,  that  they  sought  to  exempt  me 
from  every  duty  which  might  be  peculiarly 
painful  to  my  feelings.  I  myself  had  to  strive 
against  the  indulgence,  to  avoid  dishonorable 
suspicion  of  my  honor,  and  my  courage  as  a 
soldier.  Whatever  friendship — whatever  bro- 
therly love — whatever  esteem  and  benevo- 
lence could  suggest,  was  cheerfully  accorded 
to  me  by  my  companions  in  arms.  I  am  sure, 
that  under  such  circumstances,  you  will  not 
require  that  \  should  treacherously  betray 
my  friends,  or  take  up  arms  against  them. 
If,  indeed,  a  paramount  duty  to  my  country 
should  demand  it,  I  should  certainly  obey  : — 
yet,  even  in  that  case,  I  should  act  with  more 
reluctance  and  dissatisfaction  than  heretofore, 
against  Russia.  For,  whatever  may  be  the 
want  of  sympathy  between  great  masses  of 
men,  yet  the  feelings  of  individuals  are  always 
more  or  less  affected  and  involved:  and  I 
would  rather  draw  my  sword  to  my  own  cer- 
tain destruction,  than  against  my  noble  and 
dear  friends,  with  whom  I  have  shared  the 
perils  and  fortunes  of  the  war." 

The  Countess  seemed  to  be  sensible  to 
Louis'  independent  reply.  In  Feodorowna's 
eye  there  beamed  a  secret  joy  and  emotion, 
on  account  of  the  lofty  sentiment  of  him  to 
whom  her  heart  was  already  disposed  to 
commend  its  every  hope  of  happiness  and 
prosperity. 

"  The  cause  of  Russia  is  that  of  your  own 
country — it  is  that  of  all  Europe,"  replied  the 
countess,  after  some  reflection  ;  "  but  I  feel 
myself  too  weak  to  explain  to  you  now.  You 
will  accompany  us  to  the  hunting-chateau, 
some  distance  off:  it  is  situated  so  deeply  in 
the  forest,  that  it  is  secure  against  every  hos- 
tile surprise.  However,  we  cannot  move 
from  this  place  before  evening,  because  our 
sledge  is  conveying  some  of  the  more  se- 
verely wounded  to  a  village  far  distant  from 
here.  In  the  meantime,  our  people  are 
desired  to  provide  you  with  everything  you 
may  require." 

Saying  this,  she  inclined  her  head,  as  if 
signifying  to  Louis  that  he  might  withdraw  ; 
but  Feodorowna,  visibly  perplexed  by  the 
cold,  haughty  tone  of  the  Countess,  interposed 
her  mediation.  •> 

"  This  duty  I  shall  take  upon  myself,  dear- 


238 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR 


est  mother;  the  preserver  of  our  lives  must 
not  find  us  nngratt'lul !" 

"  I  hope  he  will  become  duly  acquainted 
with  Russiarj  magnanimity,  and  iearii  how  to 
appreciate  it," answered  ibeCounteas,  proudly 
and  repulsively  ;"  but  I  would  pray  ihee,  my 
daughter,  not  to  leave  me  um  lonjr ;  as  tlitnj 
knowest  that  I  necessarily  want  thy  assist- 
ance in  my  present  condition." 

Louis  bowed  and  departed  ;  but  Ft?odorow- 
na  followed  him  instantly. 

"  I  entreat  of  you  "to  do  nothing  that  is 
likely  to  attract  undue  attention,"  said  Louis, 
gently,  to  her,  when  they  were  in  the  open 
air.  "  The  most  brilliant  prospects  are  dovv 
before  me — what  more  can  I  desire  ?' 

"  Oh  !  you  are  so  ready  with  charitable sng- 
gestitms  !"  replied  Feo«lor«>wna  ;"but  I  myself 
must,  in  some  degree, excuse  my  mother.  She 
is  truly  devoted  to  her  country  ;  and  this  is 
the  reason  why  you  find  U8  now  in  this  sin- 
gular  situation.  She  would,  by  ail  means — 
and  in  this  she  has  not  alone  followed  the 
will  of  my  falhrr — arouse  and  inflame  the 
courage  and  zeal  of  the  people  by  her  pre- 
sence, by  exhortation,  by  aid  to  the  unfortu- 
nate, and  hy  that  active  influence  which  is 
readily  exacted  by  those  occupying  a  lofty 
position  in  society,  when  they  desire  to  sway 
the  feelings  of  ihose  below  them.  Tuis  duty 
she  lias  practised  with  sncli  energy,  surpass- 
ing that  of  ordinary  women,  that  she  now  lies 
f;iintinor  an  I  exhausted,  and  is  compelled  to 
retire  to  that  forest  chateau,  whiilier  we  are 
now  about  to  proceed." 

This  discourse  was  here  interrupted  by  the 
old  man  who  had  saved  Louis  from  the  ven- 
geance of  the  angry  multitude  when,  some 
few  hours  before,  he  was  lx>uiid  lo  the  stake, 
in  expectation  of  immediate  death.  The  old 
man  now  advanced  from  the  forest.  It  was 
Father  Gregorius. 

"  I  salute  thee,  my  d,iughter,"  he  said,  ad- 
dres.-ing  Feodorowna,  in  the  R,ussian  lan- 
guage. *'  Ilast  thou  pity  upon  this  unfortunate 
prisoner  ?" 

"  To  this  venerable  old  man,"  exclaimed 
Louis,  recognising  liim,and  seizing  his  hand 
with  a  w  irm  expression  of  gratitude,  "  I  owe 
first  my  life,  and  the  greatest  blessing  that 
has  b^-en  bestowed  upon  it." 

••  So  indeed.  Father  Gregorius,  thou  hast 
saved  him  for  my  sake  !"  exclaimed  the  young 
lady,  with  touching  emotion  ;  "  and  he  was 
once  the  preserver  of  my  father,  of  my  mo- 
ther,  and  of  myself.  Ah  !  he  has  been  twice 
my  preserver.  You  have  indeed  protected 
him  for  me  !" 

"  Dear  daughter  !"  replied  the  kind-hearted 
old  man,  "  the  commandment  of  the  Lord  re- 
quired his  salvation.  He  was  helpless,  faint, 
bound  ;  our  enemiA  were  also  his  enemies  ; 
and  thus  he  belonged  to  us.    May  he  now 


become  entirely  one  of  us,  and  draw  Ms 
sword  against  ihe  invaders,  who  are  already 
blasted  by  the  bolt  of  Divine  vengeance  !" 

Limis  was  silent,  for  he  llnder^tood  not  the 
words,  spoken  in  Russian  ;  but  Feodorowna 
replied  without  hesitation  : 

"  No,  my  Father  ;  this  we  must  not  ask  at 
his  hand-.  How  heavily  soever  his  comrades 
may  have  sinned  against  him,  he  must  not 
execute  vengeance  on  them  ; — he  must  not 
become  a  traitor  to  ihose  who  speak  his  own 
mother  tongue,  and  who  dwell  in  the  same 
country  with  him.  Russia's  holy  cause  may 
well  be  left  to  her  own  children.  They  are 
strong  enough  to  workout  their  own  ven- 
geance and  retribution.  It  ought  to  be  their 
glory  and  their  jealous  pride  to  sufTer  no 
^tranger  to  partake  in  the  work  which  they 
themselves  are  able  to  accomplish.  There- 
fore, my  Father,  let  us  honor  the  feelings 
of  this  our  guest,  for  his  own  people.  His 
well-being  is  of  deep  interest  to  me.  To  thy 
care  I  commend  him  as  a  guest ; — thou  wilt 
do  the  duty  of  a  father  to  him,  until  I  send 
lo  thee.  Divide  thy  ii.eal  and  thy  couch  with 
him  ;  for,  as  thmi  seest,  he  is  exhausted  with 
fitigue  and  anxiety.  To  thee  I  transfer  him; 
and  it  is  well  that  thou  should^t  know  that 
thy  daughter  accounts  him  as  a  dear  brother ; 
to  thee,  therefore,  let  him  be  a  dear  son  !" 

Feodorowna  t^poke  with  a  warm  zeal. 
Greg«rius  held  out  his  right  hand  to  his 
uuest,  in  token  of  a  kind  and  fatherly  recep- 
tion of  him. 

"  Salve  !  Sisfelix,  quomodo  mihi  es  exop- 
talus  !" 

Louis  had  not  hitherto  been  aware  that  he 
stood  in  the  presence  of  a  servant  of  the  Lord. 
He  was  not  a  little  rejoiced  at  discovering 
the  means  of  intelligible  communication,  and 
he  promptly  replied  : — 

"  Salce,  mi  Pair !  Ex  animo  sralias  tibi 
a^o,  salcatori  vilcc  mecc  I  Sisfelix  quomodo 
beniqmus  es." 

Feodorowna  took  leave  of  Louis  and  went 
bick  to  her  mother.  He  himself  followed 
'be  venerable  priest,  who  led  him  to  a  second 
hut,  before  which  there  blazed  a  large  fire. 
With  unfeigned  thanks  he  accepted  the  meal 
which  the  old  man  offered  to  him.  While  he 
eonsnmed  the  simple  but  nourishing  food, 
Willhofen  also  arrived,  and,  at  the  benevo- 
lent invitation  of  the  old  man,  sat  down  l)eside 
them.  This  afforded  Louis  the  first  oppor- 
tunity of  inquiring  after  his  father,  and  re- 
sponding to  the  inquiries  of  Willhofen  after 
his  mother./  It  was  a  melancholy  truth,  in- 
deed, that  both  were  under  the  necessity  ot 
speaking  of  the  departed  ;  but  the  tender  re- 
miniscences called  up  by  their  conversation, 
were  tinged  with  something  of  pleasure,  as 
well  as  pain. 

Only  one  care— one  grief — lay  upon  Louis 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


929 


breast — Bernard's  fate.  'Tis  true,  the  un- 
subdued energy  of  hope  was  yet  awake  ;  yet 
the  very  sceues  he  had  but  lately  witnessed 
were  sufficient  to  excite  the  most  gloomy  ap- 
prehensions. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

It  was  almost  night  before  Louis  again 
heard  anything  about  Feodorowna.  Although 
he  was  well  pleased  to  find  himself  in  the  so- 
ciety of  the  worthy  clergyman  who  had  fur- 
nished him  with  warm  furs — Hlihough  he 
heard  many  interesting  particulars  from 
Willhofen,  which  deeply  moved  his  feelings; 
yet  his  heart  beat  wiili  restless  anxiety  for 
the  object  of  his  thouiihts,  and  he  feared  evtry 
moment  some  accident  might  deprive  him  ui 
the  expected  reunion. 

At  length  a^ne.-isage  was  delivered  from 
her,  desiring  him  to  prepare  for  departure. 
Gregorius  and  Willhofen  accompanied  him 
to  the  hut,  where  stood  the  sledge,  to  whirh 
the  horses  were  air /ady  aitaclied.  The  two 
ladies  soon  came  fcirih,  closely  enveloped  in 
furs  and  veils.  Tlie  Couiite»s  was  carried  ; 
she  was  evidently  much  fatigued.  Fa^sing 
by  Louis,  she  snluted  him  with  a  slight  incli- 
nation of  her  head  ;  Feodorowna,  on  the  con- 
trary, stretching  out  her  hand  to  her  friend, 
said: 

"  In  a  few  hours  we  shall  have  reached  the 
place  of  rest",  you  will,  I  hope,  rejoice  at  it. 
YoH  must  pardon  us,  that  our  sledge  has  no 
suitable  place  for  you." 

Limis  soon  discovered  what  it  was  th^t  of- 
fended Feodorowna's  delicacy — namely,  that 
he  must  sit  upon  a  servant's  seat.  He  kindly 
and  respectfully  quieted  her  regrets,  as  he 
assisted  her  into  the  carriage. 

"  My  eyes  will  watch  for  you,  and  my 
hand  -hall  guard  you,  during  the  darkness  of 
tlie  night ;  it  ii  a  charge  that  renders  ine 
happy." 

Saying  this,  he  swung  himself  up  into  the 
fore-seat,  where  Willhofen  l(X)k  his  place  by 
his  side.  The  coachman  sat  upon  the  btck- 
seat,  handing  the  reins  to  Willhofen  ;  two 
servants,  on  horseback,  rode  on  before. 

After  having  taken  leave  of  the  ladies, 
Gregorius  held  out  his  hand  to  his  youfg 
gue.it,  for  whom  he  speedily  had  conceived  a 
sincere  affection.  Louis  pressed  it  with  the 
warmest  gratitude.  The  sleigh  was  soon  in 
motion,  and  dashed  away  with  rapid  ty. 

Their  way  laj  through  the  midst  of  a  dense 
forest.  It  was  dark  indeed,  and  the  sky  was 
dall  and  gloomy  ;  still  they  were  enabled  to 
trace  their  path  on  tiie  snow.   Silence  reigned  j 


everywhere.  The  hollow  rnstl'ng  among  the 
pine  branches,  occasioned  by  the  passage  of 
the  sleigh  and  the  hard  breathing  of  the 
horses,  were  the  only  sounds  that  disturbed 
the  frozen  solitude. 

Louis  had  now  leisure  to  reflect  upon  the  vi- 
cissitudes he  had  but  so  recently  experienced. 
A  lifetime  of  events  in  the  short  space  of  one 
day  !  His  powers  of  endurance  assailed 
on  every  side,  were  sustained  in  equilibrium 
by  the  very  incidents  that  environed  them. 
To  any  one  of  the  several  trials  both  the 
mind  and  the  body  might  well  have  given 
way.  He  now  enjoyed  a  few  moments  of 
comparative  tranquillity,  and  was  enabled  to 
arrange  the  confused  images  that  vexed  his 
thoughts,  and  pass  them  in  review  before 
him.  The  present  and  the  past — the  remote 
and  the  proximate — were  how  subject  to  his 
apprehensions  ;  grief  and  joy,  care  and  hope, 
trod  cIospIv  upon  each  other!  His  own  fate 
was  as  the  image  of  an  autumnal  landscape — 
where  the  shadtjw  of  a  passing  cloud  is 
clearly  defined  in  the  sun.hinc — where  the 
green  and  the  withered  leaves  are  strangely 
intermixed  with  each  other. 

"The  lost  is  found, and  beside  thee  !"  he 
mentally  syliloquised  ;  "  the  breath  of  her 
lips  istthine  own;  thy  hand  can  touch  her! 
But  canst  thou  ever  clasp  her  to  thy  heart  ? 
Will  not  the  brazen  portulof  fate  again  grate 
its  harsh  thunder  before  the  opening  Para- 
dise?— and  will  thou  not  be  excluded  in  the 
chill  d.irkness  of  despair?  And  thy  friend, 
roo! — the  faithful — the  invaluable  friend! — 
AJas  ! — the  terrible  calamity,  so  graciously 
av-erted  from  this  unworthy  head,  has  fallen 
but  too  fatally  on  his!  or  death  has  visited 
him  in  all  the  terrors  of  winter  and  wilder- 
ness !  And  has  he  thus  passed  away  from 
the  glad  precincts  of  light  and  life?  Ah! 
how  fearful  to  think  that  no  hand  to  aid — 
no  voice  to  comfort — to  love — to  soothe — 
ministered  to  the  wants,  the  regrets  and  the 
affections  of  the  dying  sutferer!  Oh,  AI- 
mghty  Father  !  cliastise  not  too  severely  hira 
whom  Thou  deignest  to  bless  !  Alas  !  this 
is  indeed  an  affliction  scarce  compensated 
hy  the  love  of  woman.  No,  no!  If.  cannot 
l)e,  that  f  purchase  happiness  at  such  a  price  ! 
Weighed  down  with  grief  for  one  so  ruth- 
lessly lost — the  hand  is  unable  to  raise  this 
new  cup  to  my  lips." 

'•  It  is  getting  quite  dark !"  said  VVillhofen. 
"These  forests  are  fearfully  wild.  Haik! 
Do  you  hear  the  wolf?  He  howls  with  hun- 
ger. If  he  scent  us  in  the  wind  he  will  soon 
be  on  our  track.  Holla  !  ray  lad — you  there 
before.  Ride  close  up  with  ns.  Are  your 
guns  loaded  ?     We  may  have  to  use  thrm." 

Louis  looked  back  with  anxiety  upon  the 
women.  But  the  night  and  the  thick  veils 
they  wore,  rendered  it   Impossible  to  recog- 


830 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


oise  their  features,  or  distiagaish  whether  or 
not  they  were  under  any  apprehension. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  ?"  he  quietly  asked 
Willhofen. 

"  Not  much.     Be  under  no  alarm  !" 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  my  own  sake,"  an- 
swered Louis ;  "  but  we  have  women  with  us." 

"  That's  nothing.  We  have  three  guns, 
and  to  you  I  resign  my  cutlass.  Hark ! 
There  must  be  a  whole  pack ;  hear  how  they 
howl !" 

They  proceeded  but  slowly  through  the  deep, 
nntrodden  snow.  The  air  was  at  rest,  and 
the  deep  and  constant  howling  of  the  hungry 
brutes  was  distinctly  heard  in  the  distance. 

"  The  horses  already  scent  their  enemy," 
said  Willhofen  in  an  under  tone ;  "  do  but 
see  how  instinctively  they  turn  their  ears  to 
the  sound  and  snort.  Paulowitch  and  Ste- 
panow !"  he  exclaimed  to  the  horsemen  ; 
"  make  use  of  your  spurs,  and  hurry  on  with 
all  speed  to  the  corner  near  the  great  pine. 
There  the  road  breaks  off  far  to  the  right, 
and  perhaps  we  may  escape  detection  by  the 
beasts." 

He  snapped  his  whip  and  urged  on  the  hor- 
ses. Shortly  the  road  turned  round  a  lofty  old 
pine,  whose  trunk  formed  the  angle  of  the 
wood.  The  horsemen,  in  the  act  of  turning 
the  corner,  suddenly  reined  in  their  animals. 

"  What's  there  ?"  asked  Willhofen. 

"  Here  lies  a  man  in  the  way  !"  replied  the 
horseman. 

"  So  it  is !"  exclaimed  Willhofen. 

"  Dead  or  living  ?     Hallo  !  Answer !" 

"  He  does  not  move ;  it  must  be  a  corpse. 
We  must  remove  him  from  the  road,  or  the 
sleigh  will  not  be  able  to  pass." 

He  stopped  and  would  have  given  the 
reins  to  Louis — but  the  latter  exclaimed  : 

"  I  will  help  you.  We  must  see  if  he  is 
really  dead." 

The  driver  taking  the  reins,  Louis  and 
Willhofen  descended  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
moving the  obstruction  out  of  the  way. 

"  Father  of  Mercies  !  it  is  Bernard  !"  ex- 
claimed Louis,  having  bent  himself  down,  as 
if  about  to  raise  the  body.  "Bernard,  art 
thou  yet  living  ?  If  there  be  but  one  spark  of 
life  in  thee,  I  entreat  thee,  give  me  answer  !" 

He  knelt  weeping,  close  by  the  frozen  suf- 
ferer— raised  his  head — pressed  it  against 
his  breast,  and  endeavored  in  his  embrace  to 
warm  the  cold  and  pale  countenance  of  his 
firiend 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  the  Countess  now 
called  out  impatiently. 

Feodorowna  had  heard  the  exclamation  of 
Louis,  and  in  an  instant  sprang  out  of  the 
low  sleigh. 

"  Do  you  find  your  nnhappy  friend  here  ?" 
{the  asked  in  a  trembling  voice,  as  she  wit- 
nessed Louis'  anxiety. 


"  A  friend  !  Oh,  the  only  one — now  frozen 

— perchance   dead !      Ob,    Bernard !    hear 
I" 


me 


"  Perhaps  there  is  yet  hope  !"  said  the  ten- 
der-hearted lady  :  "  we  will  try  what  can  be 
done  for  him." 

Saying  this,  she  approached  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  breast  of  the  stranger. 

"  Methinks  he  breathes  yet,"  she  said  joy- 
fully. 

"  No,  no !  he  is  dead — he  is  lost !"  ex- 
claimed Louis,  almost  distracted.  "This 
blow  is  more  than  I  can  bear !" 

In  the  agony  of  his  distress  he  pressed  the 
cold  form  of  his  friend  to  his  heart. 

"  We  will  take  the  unfortunate  man  into 
the  sleigh,"  said  Feodorowna  in  a  tone  of  the 
softest  pity ;  "  his  powers  may  return  if  we 
cover  him  up  warm.  In  an  hour  we  shall 
reach  the  castle,  and  then  no  means  shall  be 
left  untried  to  awaken  him  to  life." 

Louis  made  no  answer,  save  only  by  seiz- 
ing Feodorowna's  hand  and  pressing  it  to  his 
lips.  She  drew  it  softly  back;  her  heart 
prayed  to  the  bountiful  Father  of  Heaven, 
that  he  would  avert  this  alHiction  from  her 
lover.  Willhofen  and  Louis  raised  the  mo- 
tionless body.  When  they  brought  him  to 
the  sleigh,  the  Countess  Dolgorpw  exclaimed : 

"  My  God,  what  means  this  ?  What  have 
we  to  do  with  this  dead  body  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  mother  !"  said  Feodorowna,  "  it 
is  an  unhappy  being  in  whom  there  is  yet 
life.     Perhaps  we  may  yet  save  him." 

"  It  is  impossible  !"  replied  the  Countess, 
vehemently  ;  "  hearest  thou  not  the  wolves  ? 
We  are  in  danger — we  must  not  now  over- 
burden the  sleigh;  and  besides,  there  is  no 
room — in  one  word,  I  cannot  suffer  it.  Make 
haste  and  come  in,  I  command  you  !" 

Willhofen  stood  irresolute.  But  Louis 
threw  himself  down  at  Feodorowna's  feet, 
exclaiming :  '*  By  all  that  is  sacred,  I  en- 
treat you,  save  my  friend.  Take  my  life,  but 
save  him !" 

"  Mother !"  exclaimed  Feodorowna  ur- 
gently, "humanity,  the  commandment  of — 
love " 

"  Fool ! — for  dragging  along  a  dead  body, 
we  living  are  to  become  the  prey  of  the 
wolves  !  No,  I  say,  no ;  I  command  you  to 
hasten  to  reseat  yourself  instantly." 

"  So,  then,  1  will  remain  here,"  exclaimed 
Louis,  unable  to  restrain  his  feelings.  Again 
he  clasped  tlie  cold  form  of  his  friend  and 
covered  it  with  his  fur  cloak.  "  Dear  Ber- 
nard, thou  most  faithful  of  friends,  here  shall 
thou  again  awaken  to  life  on  tny  bosom,  or 
here  will  I  die  with  thee !"  His  tears  choked 
further  utterance. 

The  Countess  vehemently  repeated  her 

orders.    "  Further  delay   will   cost  us  our 

J  lives.    Solanow — reseat  yourself  and  hurry 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


SSI 


forward — obey  my  orders.     Let  him  remain 
who  will !" 

"  Mother,  mother  !"•  exclaimed  Feodorow- 
na,  aeiaing  her  hand,  "the  life  of  a  man  is 
at  a  stake — the  life  of  our  preserver — " 

"  And  who  now  desires  to  become  our  de- 
stroyer," interrupted  the  Countess.  "  Come 
in,  or  I  leave  you  here  also !" 

The  howling  of  the  wolves  distinctly  indi- 
cated their  approach.  The  servants  durst 
neither  obey  nor  disobey.  Feodorowna  stood 
in  terrible  conflict  with  herself.  "  Well, 
then,"  she  said,  after  a  powerful  struggle 
with  her  feelings,  "  thus  must  I  myself  de- 
cide. If  I  must  add  to  my  misery  the  pow- 
erful name  of  Princess  Ouh'alskoi,  for  once 
at  least  it  shall  stand  me  in  good  stead.  To 
me  belong  these  horses,  these  serfs ;  you 
know  your  Princess,  your  mistress !  Upon 
your  life,  I  now  command  you  not  to  leave 
this  helpless  being  behind  you  !" 

She  stood  upright  in  commanding  majesty 
before  her  people.  The  Countess  in  wrath 
and  astonishment  closed  her  lips. 

"  Hasten  !  save  yourself  and  your  friend 
with  us !"  said  Feodorowna  quietly  to  the 
half-paralysed  Louis. 

Willhofen  ran  to  aid  Louis  in  lifting  Ber- 
nard upon  the  seat,  where  Louis  covered 
him  with  his  own  fur,  and  clasped  him  firmly 
in  his  arms. 

"  I  will  stand  here  upon  the  pole,"  said 
the  ready-witted  servant ;  "  so  there  will  be 
room  enough  for  all  three  of  us."  Securing 
himself  with  all  haste  in  his  new  position, 
he  seized  the  reins,  crying,  "  Now  forward, 
lads  !" 

The  horses,  too  well  aware  of  the  near 
approach  of  the  wolves,  were  impatiently 
pawing  the  snow  beneath  their  feet,  and 
snorting  with  'increased  vehemence.  They 
gave  evident  signs  that  they  felt  their  own 
safety  at  stake,  and  once  at  liberty  they 
dashed  rapidly  and  gallantly 'through  the  un- 
derwood. 

The  sleigh  was  crashing  through  the 
brushwood,  when  suddenly  a  large  and  pow- 
erful wolf  darted  out  of  the  thicket,  and 
made  a  fearful  spring  at  the  horses.  But 
the  adroit  Willhofen  stretched  the  beast 
upon  the  ground  at  the  very  moment,  it 
would  have  fastened  its  fangs  in  the  throat 
of  the  leader. 

"  So  much  for  this  fellow — and  he  is  for- 
tunate we  do  not  rob  him  of  his  fur,"  said 
the  merry-hearted  Willhofen,  without  par- 
ticularly regarding  the  loud  exclamation  of 
the  Countess. 

Some  minutes  passed  without  the  appear- 
ance of  any  new  enemy.  The  harsh  echoes 
of  the  howling  seemed  to  recede. 

"  They  have  become  shy,"  said  Willhofen 
tarning  to  Louis,  who,  yet  holding  his  friend 


to  his  bosom,  had  scarcely  remarked  what 
had  happened.  "  Be  at  ease,  most  graciooB 
ladies,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  occu- 
pants of  the  sleigh  ;  "  the  brute  will  give  us 
no  further  trouble.  In  five  minutes  we  shall 
be  out  of  the  forest,  and  then  the  path  is 
smooth  as  a  mirror.  Once  there,  and  not 
even  a  meteor  can  overtake  us." 

The  darkness  of  the  forest  was  relieved  : 
they  had  arrived  at  a  place  covered  only  by 
low  bushes ;  it  might  be  traversed  in  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  The  sleigh  flew  rapidly 
along  a  route  well  hardened  by  more  fre- 
quent use.  it  soon  turned  into  a  straight 
alley  or  artificial  road ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  castle  lay  before  the  eyes  of  the  trav- 
ellers. 

"  Thus  far  all  well !"  exclaimed  Willhofen, 
as  he  drew  up  before  the  door,  out  of  which 
two  aged  servants  were  advancing  with  lan- 
terns, for  they  had  heard  the  loud  cracking 
of  the  whip.  "Only  see  how  the  horses 
reek!  From  the  great  pine  to  this  spot 
in  less  than  twenty  minutes — and  half  the 
way  in  the  deep  srow !  Full  ten  good 
versts." 

Saying  this,  he  jumped  ctf.  The  servants 
assisted  the  ladies  in  getting  out  of  the 
sleigh. 

Silent  and  without  acknowledgment  the 
Countess  leant  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the 
servants  with  the  lanterns,  and  entered  tb« 
door. 

Bianca  lost  not  a  moment  in  directing  im- 
mediate attention  to  be  bestowed  upon  Louis 
and  his  unhappy  friend.  Then  she  turned 
to  Louis  and  said  :  "  Here  you  are  my  guest, 
this  castle  belongs  to  me ;  if  heaven  preserve 
you  through  this  trying  visitation,  I  trust 
you  will  here  pass  many  an  hour  in  tran- 
quillity and  happiness." 

Louis,  who  still  remained  sitting,  as  he 
held  Bernard's  head  in  his  arms,  turned  to- 
ward her  when  ehe  cddressed  him.  Her 
soft  voice  found  an  easy  passage  to  his 
heart. 

"  Ever  kind  as  a  messenger  of  mercy  from 
above,"  he  began — but  at  this  moment  Ber- 
nard moved  and  drew  a  deep  sigh :  "  He 
lives  !"  exclaimed  Louis  in  the  wildest  agi- 
tation and  regardless  of  all  else.  "  Bles^ 
be  God  !     He  lives,  he  lives  !" 

In  the  first  flush  of  hope  and  joy  he  pas- 
sionately embraced  the  form  of  his  friend. 

"  Where  am  1 1"  asked  Bernard,  opening 
his  eyes. 

"  In  my  arms !"  exclaimed  Louis. 

Feodorowna  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 
A  bright  ray  of  hope  shone  upon  her  also. 
For  the  first  time  after  long  days  of  sorrow 
and  suflfering,  a  peaceful  serenity  once  mort 
filled  her  breast. 

Willhofen  assisted  Louis  in  conveying  the 


939 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


half-inanimnte  youth  into  the  room  prepared 
for  his  receptitin,  and  there  they  aepusi  ed 
him  upon  a  couch.  The  faithtul  servant 
then  hastened  to  procure  the  nec<-8sary  rem- 
edies for  his  recovery.  The  torpid  senses 
of  the  sufferer  soon  began  to  reawHken. 
"  Louie,"    he  faintly  murmured,  "  d<»  I  fee 

?'ou  once  more?     Are  we  yet  among  the 
iving— or  hnve  we  passed  away  from  earth  ? 
Or  is  all  this  some  dream  ?" 

"  We  are  yet  ahve  indeed— a  gracious 
Pnividence  has  preserved  us.  But,  dear 
Bernxrd,  there  are  other  wonders  to  bo  seen 
besides  thi-»." 

Willhofen  entered  the  apartment  with 
medicines  and  stimulants  prepared  in  hntste 
by  FeodorownA — a  servant  brought  woollen 
wrappers  and  other  suitable  appliances. 
Thet^e  latter  were  now  the  less  necessnry, 
since  Bernard  had  already  go  far  revived  as 
to  be  ab'e  to  speaic  and  partially  to  move. 
But  Willhofen  urged  him  to  take  the  medi- 
chies, — alleging  their  potipncy  in  confirming 
the  returning  powers  of  body  and  mind. 
Bernard  rait^ed  the  cup  to  his  lips.  A  few 
drops  imparled  a  fresh  sense  of  life;  and 
the  moral  power  of  expectation  soon  accom- 
plislicd  the  work  of  entire  recovery. 

"  (*ome,  Ossip,"  said  Willliolen  to  the 
servant,  "  we  are  no  longer  of  any  service 
here,  and  there  is  yet  much  to  be  done  in 
other  places."     So  they  both  left  the  room. 

"  Brother,"  said  Bernard,  with  deep  emo- 
tion, when  they  found  themselves  alone,  "on 
thine  own  breast  hast  thou  warmed  me  lo 
life  again.  Marvellous  indeed  and  inscru- 
table are  the  ways  of  Providence  !  Under 
His  bles-iiig  there  is  not  a  drop  of  blood  in 
my  veins  that  may  not  be  justly  claimed  as 
thine  own !" 

He  raised  his  hand  on  high  as  he  spoke, 
and  the  generous  sentiments  of  his  heart 
were  nobly  expre.ssed  in  his  care-worn  fea- 
tures. His  unsnl)diied  spirit  bade  defiance  to 
the  assaults  of  fate,  and  rivalled  the  elas- 
ticity of  steel,  whose  resistance  increases  in 
proportion  to  the  adverse  pressure. 

"  But  now  tell  me,"  he  continued  more 
calmly,  "  where  are  we  ?  how  have  we 
escaped  ?  J  rememl)er  nothing  but  that  I 
was  wandering  about  in  the  forest.  And 
what  are  your  own  adventures,  Louis  ?" 

Louis  was  about  to  answer,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  Feodomwna  entered,  with 
her  veil  thrown  back  and  clothed  in  mourn- 
ing. A  iiirandole,  tliat  stool  on  the  table 
near  the  door,  cast  a  clear  light  upon  her  no- 
ble features. 

"  Behold  my  preserving  angel,",  said  Louis, 
respectfully  pointing  out  the  lady  to  her  ad- 
miring guest. 

"  Your  friend  lives  ? — Thanks  be  to  the 
Father  of  mercies  !'* 


Her  voice  was  low  and  tremulous ;  and 
as  she  advanced  her  gesture  and  counte- 
nance betrayed  a  confused  state  of  mind. 

Bernard  raised  his  astonished  eyes  to  her 
fare. 

"  These  features  I  know,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  But  lutw,  or  where,  I  cannot  say — and  this 
V(»ice,  too — I  have  heard  it  before  !" 

Feodomwna  stiiod  with  her  eyes  fixed, 
equally  spellbound,  upon  Bernard's  face. 
The  sight  of  him  awakened  memories  strange 
and  dilticuU  of  explication.  Under  the  im- 
puljic  of  a  generous  and  tender  confitlence, 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Bernard 
bent  down  his  head,  as  if  to  kiss-it,  but  the 
moment  he  fixeJ  his  eye  upon  it,  he  htartcd, 
as  if  stung  by  an  adder.  His  face,  already 
pale,  changed  into  marble,  his  lips  became 
blanched  and  spf  echless ;  and  his  eyes  im- 
moveably  Hxed,  he  remmed  tlie  gaze  of  the' 
lady's  mysterious  countenance.  At  length 
he  raised  his  hands  quickly  to  his  temples, 
and  pressed  them  closely,  as  if  severe  pain 
were  seated  there. 

"  Whit  I  ails  thee  ?"  asked  Louis,  partici- 
pating at  once  in  his  too  apparent  excite- 
ment. 

*•  Nothing,  nothing  I"  exclaimed  Bernard, 
wildly ;  but  he  Irenibled  Irom  head  to  foot. 
"  Ni>ihin£;  bat  a  fanciful  dream.  And  yet  I 
dread  to  be  awakened  out  of  it.  For  hea- 
ven's sake  untie  this  knot  in  my  hair — -I  can- 
not tear  it  out." 

While  speaking,  he  made  a  violent  effort 
to  disengage  a  lock  of  his  hair.  Louis  felt 
the  knot,  and  readily  unloosed  it.  Bernard's 
ring  fell  upon  the  floor;  he  hastily  caught  it 
up  again  and  offering  it  to  Feodorowna,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Methinks,  this  ring  looks  like  yours, — 
I  changed  it  once  iu  Warsaw — it  bears 
the  letters Oh!  I  am  becoming  distract- 
ed !"  he  uttered  suddenly,  as  a  dark  cloud 
gathered  upon  his  wrinkled  brow:  "Oh; 
save  me,  Louis,  from  this  madness.  Touch 
me — that  I  may  know  if  I  am  yet  awake." 

Feodorowna  took  the  ring  out  of  his  hand. 
As  she  examined  it,  comparing  it  with  her 
own,  her  eye  grew  dim.  Trembling,  she 
sunk  down  upon  her  knees, folded  her  hands 
in  prayer,  and  lifting  her  eyes  to  heaven,  itp- 
plored  its  mercy. 

"  Great  fountain  of  all  blessings,  try  me 
not  too  severely  !  If  this  heart  dues  not  de- 
ceive itself,  it  will  break — so  great  a  weight 
it  cannot  bear !  Have  mercy  upon  my 
weakness !" 

She  held  the  rings  averted  from  her  sight, 
and  turned  her  eyes  aside,  in  fearful  antici- 
pation of  the  story  they  had  to  announce. 
Then,  again  pressing  both  vehemently  to  her 
breast,  as  tliough  they  were  the  most  precious 
of  earthly  possessions,  to  lose  which  would 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSS'lA. 


23S 


be  to  lose  life — and  more  than  life.  Again, 
will)  sudden  resolution,  she  fixed  an  intent 
Titze  upon  them.  She  trembled — her  bosom 
le.iVed — the  deep  blush  of  the  rose  was  upon 
ler  Cheeks.  Anon,  she  grew  pale  as  the 
ijnow,  or  ihe  lily.  The  rings  fell  from  her 
hand — she  stretched  out  her  arms  towards 
Berniird — her  lips  moved,  but  the  agitation 
of  ti>e  breast  suppressL'd  every  sound  ;— yet, 
atixieiy  at  lenylh  lound  an  uilennce  :  '•  Bro- 
ther ! —  Brotlier  !''  she  exclaimed,  and  fell 
swottiiing  into  Bernard's  extended  arms.  He 
hild  the  lovely  lady  fondly  pressed  to  his  hu- 
so n  ;  but  iiis  impaired  strength  almosi  failed 
him  ; — tears  fell  fast  and  frequent  from  his 
eyes  '<>ind  bedewed  the  head  of  her  whom  he 
cla.^pjd  in  innocent  unconsciousness  to  his 
hean. 

"  Louis,  Louis!"  he  at  length  uttered,  in  a 
ten  ler  voice  ;  "  ihou  an  better,  purer  than  I, 
— pray,  tMen,  to  the  Ecern.tl  Failier,  that  she 
die  not  in  my  arms — he  will  hear  thy  entrea- 
ties !  Beloved  one,  raise  thy  head  !"  Yet  once 
mure  live  in  all  thy  love  and  tenderness  upon 
th3  breast  of  thy  loving  brother !"  He  raised 
his  sisier  in  his  arms,  and  gently  deposited 
her  upon  the  couch  whereon  he  himself,  a  few 
minutes  previous,  had  been  awake.ned  to  life. 
I'liere,  she  once  more  opened  her  deep  (due 
eyes,  and  raised  her  languid  arm  with  ihc  de- 
sign of  casting  it  around  the  neck  of  her  bro- 
ther. The  sacred  gush  of  affection  sprang 
forth  for  her  relief.  She  soon  breathed  freely 
and  happily  ;  and  this  happiness  was  no  less 
felt  than  expressed  in  the  beaming  radiance 
of  her  countenance. 

•'  Is  it  then  true  ?  Yes,  yes — thou  art  In- 
deed my  broiher !  There  is  a  voice  within 
whicii  does  not  deceive  me.  It  speaks  a  truth 
more  pUinly  than  can  be  testified  by  the  ex- 
ternal senses.  I  do  indeed  recognise  thee — 
I  have  now  a  heart  tint  I  can  call  my  own 
upon  this  earth — a  breast  that  does  not 
rudt^ly  repulse  me,  when  there  I  seek  repose. 
Is  if  not  true,  my  broiher  ?  Thou  wilt  not 
again  forsake  me  ?" 

"  For.-ake  thee  !"  said  Bernard,  pressing 
the  trembling  obj»>ct  more  closely  to  his 
breast.  "  Even  as  the  plant  in  the  dark  val- 
ley looks  for  the  light  of  heaven,  so  have  I 
looked  and  longed  for  thee,  iny  dear  sister  I 
And  now,  canst  thou  believe  that  1  would  shut 
out  tho  flower  of  my  hopes  from  the  beam 
of  light  and  life  which  is  now  poured  down 
npiin  ir  ?  For  the  first  tinie  in  life  does  the 
light  break  through  the  clouds  in  which  I 
have  been  enveloped  !  For  the  first  time,  1 
see  this  beautiful  world  glorified  in  all  its  rosy 
splendor !  Grey,  barren,  and  immersed  in 
thick  mist,  it  once  lay  before  me; — now  it 

Blows  in  a  thousand  rich  and  warm  colors  ! 
o,  notliin>r  shall  again  part  us — not  even 
death  itself! — for,  in  the  self-same  hoar  in 


which  he  tears  thee  from  my  arms,  will  I  fol- 
low thee  beyond  the  precincts  of  the  grave  1" 


CHAPTER   LXXIIL 

The  sounds  of  voices  and  footsteps  were 
heard  in  the  corridor. 

"  Who  comes  ?"  said  Bernard,  suddenly 
starting  up.  '•  Who  comes  ?  Whom  have 
1  to  fear  or  to  fly  from  ?" 

"  Here,  every  one  !"  exclaimed  Fe<»dorow- 
na,  hastily  disengaging  herself  from  his  arms. 
"  Here  every  one  is  to  be  dreaded  as  an  in- 
sidious enemy  to  all  pure  and  secluded  hap. 
piness.  Let  no  sound  of  the  voice  beiray  us; 
it  is  the  first  demand  of  tliy  sister  ; — ah  !  do 
not  let  |t  go  unheeded  !" 

Willhofen,  two  servants,  and  Feodorowua'a 
damsel,  Jeannetie,  came  in.  The  Utter  ac- 
costed her  mist' ess,  leliing  her  that  the  Coun- 
tess Uolgorow  desired  her  pre.-ence. 

'•  I  will  no  this  moment,"  replied  Feodo- 
rowna.  "  Farewell !"  she  continued,  turning 
to  Bernard  and  Louis ;  "  in  half  an  hour,  at 
farthest,  we  will  see  you  again ;  for  1  ex- 
pect you  will  appear  at  supjier  in  the  saloon.*' 

Her  looks  required  an  atiiruHtivc  answer. 
Bernard  and  Louis  bowed  in  silence,  as  she 
glided  out  of  the  room. 

"  We  c-«me  with  a  supply  of  clothinsr, 
worthy  gentlemen,"  said  Willhofen.  "  Tho 
Princess  has  directed  the  wardrobe  of  ihe 
late  Piince  to  be  opened,  ihnt  you  may  make 
all  necessary  changes.  You  must  pardon 
this  unceremonious  offer,  only  excusable  ia 
the  present  nece.ssity." 

"  H-tnd  them  to  me,  my  friend,"  said  Ber- 
nard. "Thoa  seest  we  are  not  clad  in  conit- 
dresses ;  besides,  torn  cloaks  and  bursting 
boots  do  not  defend  us  so  well  from  the  cold, 
as  when  new  and  sound.  Show  us  the  sup- 
plies. Ah  !  if  they  only  fit  decently  !  Louis, 
let  us  not  grow  vain  ;  we  are  not  used  of  late 
to  see  ourselves  so  decked  out.  VVhy,  <mly 
look  ! — I  ini(>ht  readily  pass  for  a  Russian 
prince,  in  this  fine  fur  cloak  !" 

Bernard  spoke  intentionally  in  an  easy  and 
jesting  tone,  because  Louis  was  silent.  His 
object  was  to  evade  any  suspicion  which 
might  arise  in  the  minds  of  the  servants, 
touching  their  guests  ;  for  he  desired  that 
they  should  have  no  reason  to  isiippose  that 
anything  extraordinary  had  occurred.  Ac- 
customed to  command  even  his  deepest  IceU 
ings  with  an  external  show  of  jest  and  goiid- 
humor,  he  now  had  no  difficulty  in  concealing 
from  observation  all  trace  of  the  passions 
which  had  but  so  recently  agitated  him. 


9M 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


Willhofen  admired  the  gay  and  hearty  man- 
ner of  the  youth. 

"Truly,"  he  exclaimed,  "it  was  lucky, 
friend,  that  we  lifted  you  upon  the  sleigh  ; 
for,  to  become  food  for  wolves,  at  your  early 
years,  would  really  have  been  too  hard.  But 
will  you  not, pull  on  these  fur  boots?  The 
wind  whistles  here  a  little  sharper  than  in 
Germany." 

While  dressing,  Louis  and  Bernard  for  the 
first  time  enjoyed  an  opportunity  of  relating 
their  adventures  during  their  separation. 

Bernard  mused  in  silence  on  the  story. 

"  Wonderful  enough,"  said  he,  at  length  ; 
"  and  Beaucaire  and  St.  Luces  have  got  tneir 
deserts  at  last.  There  are  times,  Louis, 
when  I  could  become  a  believer,  and  put  faith 
in  a  Power  above,  who  is  interested  in  and 
directs  our  affairs,  and  is  ever  present,  yet 
invisible,  by  our  side,  to  lead  us  through  all 
our  extremities — to  reclaim  our  errors,  and 
conduct  us  to  our  final  destination.  It  is  not 
until  the  final  accomplishment  of  designs 
that  we  discover  the  means  and  the  way  by 
which  the  same  has  been  reached.  Ah  ! — 
truly,  various  and  countless  are  the  strange 
occurrences  of  human  life  !" 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Louis,  "  why  so  mute  and  so  downcast : 
Is  thy  liberty  not  yet  confirmed  ?  Perceivest 
thou  not  yet  that  thy  green  veil,  out  of  the  val- 
ley of  Aosta,  will  flourish  here,  as  well  on 
the  snow  as  on  the  hospice  of  St.  Bernard  ? 
I  am  rejoiced  to  repeat  that  name,  since  I 
bear  it  myself." 

Speaking  thus,  he  seized  Louis'  hand  and 
pressed  it  warmly.  His  keen  eye,  deeply 
searching  the  heart  of  his  friend,  easily  de- 
tected the  cause  of  his  melancholy.  But, 
with  a  vision  equally  clear,  he  saw  also  that 
the  tender  buds  of  pure  love  must  soon  burst 
into  full  bloom,  and  that  the  brother  might 
then  auspiciously  join  the  hand  of  the  sister 
to  that  of  the  friend.  , 

Both  were  dressed.  They  descended  to 
the  saloon,  which  Willhofen  had  indicated  to 
them  as  the  dining-hall.  It  was  lighted  by 
a  huge  flaming  fire,  that  had  been  kindled 
for  the  occasion.  The  table,  with  covers  for 
four  persons,  stood  near  the  fire. 

Willhofen  set  the  girandole  he  bore  in  his 
hand  upon  the  table. 

"  Make  yourselves  at  ease,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  ;  "  the  saloon  will  soon  be  warm  ;  the 
stoves  are  heated  likewise,  but  it  requires 
some  time  for  them  to  throw  out  their  warmth. 
I  shall  now  announce  to  the  Princess  that 
you  are  waiting  here." 

He  went  out.  Now  Louis  and  Bernard 
were  alone.  Looking  long  at  each  other, 
they  fell  into  an  embrace,  which  was  not  the 
less  sincere  as  it  was  silent. 

"  Louis,"  said  Bernard  at  last, "  if  we  only 


remember  where  we  awoke  this  momiog,  and 
reflect  upon  where  we  shall  slumber  this 
night,  then  shall  I  really  begin  to  believe, 
like  a  good  child,  in  miracles  and  angels  !" 

"  An  angel  indeed  it  is  who  works  these 
mysteries  !"  replied  Louis,  with  deep  feeling. 
"  His  protecting  wing  was  extended  over  us 
— his  careful  hand  led  us  back  out  of  the 
dark  region  of  death.  The  greatest  marvel 
remains — he  seems  to  have  assumed  a  visible 
form !" 

The  door  from  the  inner  apartment  at  this 
moment  opened,  and  Feodorowna  walked  in. 

"  Ah  !  behold  ! — again  is  it  present  by  our 
side,  to  bless  us ;  but  tne  radiance  of  its  beauty 
is  too  great  for  the  weak  sight  of  man  !" 

And  Louis  turned  his  face  aside,  that  he 
might  conceal  his  tears. 

"  Sister !"  said  Bernard,  cautiously,  ob- 
serving that  she  came  alone.  "  Sister ! — yet 
once  again  must  I  greet  thee  by  that  sweet 
name ! 

"  Brother !"  she  ejaculated,  stepping  un- 
hesitatingly towards  him,  with  the  smile  of 
an  angel  upon  her  lips.  She  laid  her  head 
upon  his  bosom,  while  he  cast  his  arms 
around  her,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

Brother ! — sister ! — what  sounds  can  be 
sweeter  ?     Brother,  sister  ! 

"  And  friend .'"  added  Bernard,  out  of  the 
fulness  of  his  feelings,  seizing  the  abashed 
Louis  by  the  hand.  "  See,  my  sister,  tliis 
man  was  the  clear  star  of  my  night  of  life, 
until  thy  beauteous  sunlight  rose  upon  me ; 
he  will  not  be  extinguished  and  grow  pale,  as 
the  faithless  stars  of  the  flrmajnent :  for,  ne- 
ver did  a  cloud  conceal  him ;  and  the  more 
dismal  the  night  the  more  friendly  did  he 
shine  upon  me.  Oh !  I  wish  that  he  was  thy 
brother ! — then  hadst  thou  found  one  better 
than  myself!" 

"  Bernard,"  uttered  Louis  in  a  tone  of  re- 
proach ! 

"  Oh !  I  knew  our  friend  before  you  met 
with  him !"  replied  Feodorowna.  "  My 
heart  is  indebted  to  him  deeply  on  an  old  ac- 
count of  gratitude ;  and  within  these  few 
hours  that  debt  has  increased." 

"  How  is  this,  my  dear  sister  ?"  asked 
Bernard. 

"  May  I  confess  it  to  thee,  brother,"  she 
responded,  affectionately  looking  up  to  him. 
"  Wilt  thou  not  be  angry  with  me  ?" 

"  Be  angry  with  thee  ?" 

"  Behold  !"  she  continued,  in  graceful  con- 
fusion ; "  the  worthiness  of  the  friend  excuses 
me  with  the  brother.  Indeed  I  should  have 
confided  in  thee,"  she  added  more  rapidly ; 
"  but  I  desired  to  leave  to  him  the  happy  ex- 
planation, since  the  noble  alone  seeks  and 
loves  the  noble." 

She  concealed  her  lovely  and  blushing 
face  in  Bernard's  bosom.  ., 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


235 


**The  same  acknowledgment  do  I  also 
owe  him,  sister,"  replied  Bernard,  with  mark> 
ed  emphasis. 

"  Why  so?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 
"  Is  he  not  bound   to  me  through  my  sis- 
ter ?" 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  to  the  ground ;  the 
loveliest  blush  tinged  her  cheek,  and  she  re- 
mained silent. 

Bernard  was  the  first  to  speak  again. 
"  I  have  believed  in  the  miracle,  before  it  was 
explained,"  he  began, "  but  speak,  my  sister; 
by  what  signs  didst  thou  recognise  me  so 
distinctly  as  thy  brother  ?  I  myself  had  but 
only  vague  arid  remote  conjectures." 

"  I  came  hither,"  she  replied,  "  on  purpose 
to  explain  all  to  thee.  See  here  the  token 
whereby  the  sight  of  thy  features  filled  me, 
from  the  beginning,  with  so  strong  a  suspi- 
cion of  the  truth." 

She  held  out  to  him  both  the  portraits  she 
had  received  from  Rushka  through  Grego- 
lius.  Bernard  gazed  upon  them  with  the 
■  eye  of  an  artist,  and  instantly  recognised  the 
undeniable  resemblance  in  the  male  portrait 
to  himself,  and  the  female  to  Feodorowna.  It 
became  instantly  a  dear  consolation  to  his 
heart,  that  his  new  fortune  was  no  dream  ; 
that  it  rested  firmly  upon  reality.  Suddenly 
he  resumed : 

"  And  knowest  thou  also  the  name  of  our 
parents,  sister?  For  I  have  grown  up  rudely 
among  strangers,  and  have  scarcely  learned  to 
attach  any  value  to  the  names  and  history  of 
those  who  cast  me  so  unmercifully  forth  in 
the  world." 

"  Oh,  speak  not  so  cruelly  !"^  replied  Feo- 
dorowna, with  pious  horror.  "  The  memory  of 
our  parents  may  be  dear  to  thee.  'Tis  true, 
I  am  not  able  to  give  thee  full  information 
concerning  them.  Yet  even  herein  will  you 
find  enough  to  employ  your  future  thoughts, 
and  cause  you  to  dwell  with  pity  and  love  on 
the  memory  of  the  past." 

"  Thou  art  right,  even  as  thou  art  amiable  ; 
for  I  must  be  eternally  thankful  to  them  for 
the  blessing  at  least  that  they  gave  me  thee 
for  a  sister." 

"  Saying  these  words,  he  took  the  letter, 
in  which  Rushka  had  disclosed  to  Feodorowna 
the  story  of  her  birth,  and  read  it  hastily. 

In  the  meantime  Louis  and  Feodorowna 
conversed  together.  Louis  began  to  relate 
to  Feodorowna  the  strange  discovery  of 
Willhofen,  and  that  man's  connection  with 
his  own  father's  history.  Bernard,  half  read- 
ing, half-listening,  suddenly  exclaimed  : 
"  Louis,  what  do  you  call  the  name  of  this 
friend  of  your  father's,  for  whose  sake  he 
was  driven  into  exile  ?" 
"  Waldheim,"  replied  Louis. 
"  Waldheim  !"  exclaimed  Feodorowna,  in 


and  Bernard  assumed  the  guise  of  a  question. 
"  Thus  do  we  continually  detect  new 
threads  of  this  most  remarkable  web  ;  yet  I 
know  not  any  means  of  ascertaining  the  exact 
truth,"  answered  Bernard. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  Willhofen 
entered  the  room. 

"  I  am  a  fool !"  continued  Bernard,  involun- 
tarily striking  his  forehead.  "  Let  me  see  the 
portraits.  My  perception  must  be  frozen  by  this 
severe  winter,  else  I  might  myself  have  conjec- 
tured that  there  exists  here  an  adequate  wit- 
ness." He  took  up  both  the  portraits  he  had 
received  from  his  sister,  and  turned  to  Will- 
hofen. "  Come  hither,  my  friend,"  he  accost- 
ed him,  "  nearer,  quite  near  to  us,  to  the 
light !" 

Willhofen  approached  with  deference  and 
respect. 

"  Dost  thou  recognise  these  pictures  ?" 
A  glad  surprise   glistened  in  the  eyes  of 
the  old  servant ;  he  trembled,  scarcely  able 
to  speak. 

"  Do  I  know  them  ?"  he  replied.  «  Ah  ! 
how  vivid  the  past  lies  marked  before  me. 
Have  I  not  an  hundred  times  seen  them 
hanging  in  the  room  of  Master  Waldheim, 
the  captain  of  cavalry,  at  Strasburgh,  over 
the  sofa  ?  And  perchance  he  yet  lives  there, 
and  the  beautiful  woman  as  well !" 

Scarcely  had  Willhofen  spoken  these 
words,  when  Louis  exclaimed  t  "  What  ?  my 

father " 

"  Sacrificed  himself  for  mine,"  interrupted 
Bernard.  "  Seest  thou,  my  friend,"  he  con- 
tinued with  emotion,  "  that  I  have  many  an 
old  debt  to  repay — not  to  mention  the  new 
ones  that  have  since  been  added  to  them  !"  ' 
"  What  a  marvellous  chain  !"  exclaimed 
Louis.  *  What  a  day  of  judgment  and  of  re- 
tribution !"  He  thought  of  St.  Luces  and 
Beaucaire,  visited  by  the  hand  of  vengeance 
in  the  self-same  hour  wherein  a  happier  fate 
extended  to  him  and  to  his  friend  the  auspi- 
cious consummation  of  all  their  labors  and 
all  their  hopes  of  years  gone  by. 

Feodorowna  haid  listened  to  these  develop- 
ments  in  mute  astonishment  Now  she  uttered 
in  her  turn  :  "  What !  didst  thou  know  my 
mother,  Solanow  ?" 

The  man  started  with  agitation  :  "  The 
Countess  Dolgorow  ?"  he  asked,  looking  at 
Ffiodorowna  with  curious  and  scrutinising 
eyes,  as  if  he  sought  in  her  face  an  explana- 
tion of  her  singular  question. 

Feodorowna  felt  alarmed  at  having  betray- 
ed her  secret.  Bernard  remarked  it,  and 
calmed  her  apprehension ;  "  Fear  nothing 
dearest ;  this  man  is  faithful.  I  will  be  se- 
curity for  him — but  now  nothing  must  longer 
remain  a  secret  from  him." 
After  this  he  explained  the  whole 


^ ,  .„       -_ ^ „._ V.  mysteiy 

great  surprise,  while  her  look  towards  Louis '  to  Willhofen,  and  recommended  him  to  ob> 


236 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


serve  aecrecy  and  precaution.  The  old  ser- 
vant responded  affirinaiively  to  the  injiinciion, 
and  hul.i  out  hin  right  hand,  with  tke  true 
Gerintn  cordiality, as  a  pledge  of  the  s^irne. 

"At  Irtst  I  discover,"  he  said,  "how  it 
was  lliat  the  features  of  the  Princess,  when 
first  I  looked  upon  them,  seemed  to  be  weh 
known  to  me.  Yes,  and  truly,  my  young 
sir — yi>urs  too.  But,  you  must  excuse 
my  prHtilini;.  F  came  here,  in  fact,  to  ask  iC 
you  wnuid  please  to  direct  tliat  supper  be 
servcJ." 

'•The  Countess  Dolgorow  must  fir.-t  be 
asknil,"  repi  ed  Feodorowna,  upon  wliich 
Wil[h;WV'n,  bowing  respecttully,  left  the  room. 

II"  returned  will)  the  intelligence  that  the 
Countess  was  so  much  fatigued  that  she  had 
gone  to  bed. 

Supper  was  served.  The  presence  of  the  at- 
tendants contineil  the  warm  sentiments  of  new- 
ly aw.ikened  affection  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  conventional  formality.  But  Feodorowna 
knew  well  how  lo  add  the  grnce  and  charm 
of  fiiendly  kindness  to  the  dutie?  of  hospita- 
lity— so  thai  not  only  her  lover,  but  the  proud 
spirit  of  her  brother,  bore  the  rei^traiot  im- 
posed upon  them  with  becoming  subinission. 
Tht^y  enjoyed  to  the  full  even  this  hour  of 
control — i«nd  it  passed  too  rapidly  away. 

Feodorowna  arose ;  the  servants  removed 
the  table  and  left  the  saloon.  Feodorowna 
ordered  Willhofen  to  remain  close  at  hand 
and  hold  hiiuself  ready. 

"  i\.nv  I  am  again  thy  .sis'er,"  commenced 
she,  with  an  amiable  familiarity,  leaning 
tow.irds  Bernard — "now  I  belong  again  en- 
tirely to  thee  !" 

*'  TlnHi  art  indee<l  a  blessing  to  me  !"  re- 
plied '.  c,  looking  in  her  innocent  countenance. 

Ld.is  maintained  a  vehement  struggle  with 
himself,  llis  heart  felt  no  longer  the  anxious 
torment,  suspended  between  the  loftiest  iTopes 
and  ttie  dei^pe.-t  despair.  But  he  ft-lt  that 
the  hrtiid  of  the  brother,  who  knew  his  love, 
must  not  lead  him  to  the  sis:er, — but  that  hr 
himself  must  dare  and  act  with  manly  de- 
cision. He  who  refuses  to  risk  all  in  pursuit 
of  his  loftiest  ambition,  is  not  wortly  of  its 
accomplishment.  This  reflection  in>pired 
him  with  a  true  sense  of  his  duty;  yet  not 
without  trepidation  he  prepared  to  obey  the 
dictaies  (if  an  honorable  suit. 

'•  Bianca,"  he  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
"  for  the  sister  of  my  friend  will  certainly 
allow  me  the  use  of  this  name — since  it  tells 
of  the  Uiiforgotten  hour  of  our  first  meeting — 
Bianca — on  my  lip  now  hangs  the  fondest 
wi>li  <>t  my  heart.  Dost  thou  not  guess  ere  I 
pronounce  it?  If  not,  must  it  remain  unutter- 
ed  anrJ  I  St  for  ever  ?  Let  this  moment  decide." 

She  blushed, — a  sweet  confusion  painted 
itself  on  her  face*,  her  beautiful  eye  was  de- 
pressed to  the  ground  as  sho  replied  : 


"  My  heart  ? — T  know  not — if  I  may  dare 
obey  It — it  has  decided  long  since  !"  llere 
she  con<-ealed  her  face,  h*ir  eyes  overflowing 
with  sweet  tears,  on  the  bosom  of  her  brother. 

B  rnard  enfolded  her  softly  in  his  arms. 

Louis  gently  took  her  hand,  but  he  dared 
not  draw  the  lovely  form  to  his  breast.  His 
eir  heard  the  word  indeed  that  opened  lo  him 
the  brighte-t  heaven  of  bliss — hut  his  heart 
WHS  perplexed  with  the  horrors  of  doubt.  Too 
suddenly,  loo  pow  rfully  did  the  response  to 
his  hopes  fall  upon  him.  He  trembled  lest 
the  images  of  his  blissful  dream  should  be  dis- 
solved ;  the  vast  ext*  ntof  his  good  fortune  de- 
prived him  of  the  power  to  renliee  its  fulness 
or  its  truth. 

She  suffered  her  hand  to  remain  in  his, 
and  drew  it  n<it  back,  while  he  covered  it 
with  warm  kisses  ;  but  she  kept  her  face  con- 
cealed in  the  bosom  of  her  brother. 

"  Do  not  blush,  my  sister,"  said  Bernard 
in  &n  agitated  voice,  "  if  thou  hast  to  make  a 
noble  confession.  Believe  me,  a  rose  docs 
not  more  gracefully  adorn  the  bosom  of  wo- 
man than  pure  love.  Thy  heart  could  not 
mi -take  ,  it  has  known  and  chosen  the  noblest 
object  on  which  to  bestow  its  regard." 

She  now  raised  her  head,  and  her  eyes, 
glistening  in  tears,  she  turned  herself  in 
maiden  inodesty  to  her  lover. 

"  Father  of  Mercies  !"  she  murmured,  di- 
recting her  eyes  gratefully  to  heaven. 

Words  and  looks  were  alike  absorbed  in 
sacred  tears.  VVithont  affectation  or  reserve, 
she  permitted  her  lover  gently  to  enfold  hia 
arm  around  her  and  hold  her  in  his  happv 
embrace. 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

Thus  was  formed  a  holy  bond  that  united 
hree  aff-ctionate  hearts.     They   revelled  in 
I  e  memory  of  the  past — directing  their  happy 
'  oughts  to  the  first  moments  of  their  meet- 
ing, wherein  the  serd  was  planted  whoso  blos- 
som now  crowned  thrm  with  unutterable  hap- 
piness.    Louis  told  of  the  day  when  he  first 
noticed  the  green  veil  upon  a  wide  plxin  ot 
snow,  and    impelled  by  irresistible  curiosity, 
hastened  to  secure  the  attractive  priza 

'•  Oh,  Bianca  !"  he  said  tenderly,  "  believe 
me,  even  then,  I  built  up  fanciful  dreams— en- 
chanting castles  of  future  life.  And  now  a 
miraculous  power  has  guided  us  to  this  point 
of  happiness  I" 

Feodorowna  gave  him  her  hand,  and  smiled 
in  tender  acknowledgment  of  his  love. 

"Yes,  yes;  thou  art  real!"  he  continued, 
"  thus  didst  thou  smile  when  I  looked  fur  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


237 


first  time  upon  thy  face.  Ah  !  Bianca,  dost 
thou  not  remember  the  valley  of  Aosta — tlie 
but  concealed  by  the  clusterinjj  graMs — the 

E'gantic chestnut overdliadi)wing the  beautiful 
wn  ?  Oh  !  it  is  an  image  that  will  never 
be  etfaced  from  my  memory — for  it  is  con- 
nected with  tlie  vision  of  her  my  soul  adores!' 

She  lo'iked  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
most  in  -fFable  sweetness  Thesiiver  !i<ihtof  a 
•tear  trembled  in  her  blie  eye,  as  she  replied  : 

"  Ah  !  it  was  beautiful  there  !" 

"  And  dost  thou  know^  sister,"  remarked 
Bernard,  "  where  I  first  saw  thee  ?" 

"  Our  first  meeting  was  happy  !"  she  re- 

Elied.  '*  Thou  didst  save  thy  sister  in  an 
our  of  imminent  danger,  to  which  she  was 
exposed  together  with  those  to  whom  she 
had  consecrated  her  youthful  duty  !" 

"  No  !  I  knew  thee  much  earlier,"  he  said, 
smiling;  "not  in  the  romantic  rural  hut,  but 
amidst  the  splendor  of  the  rich  and  coroneted. 
It  was  in  London,  while  witnessing  the  play 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Dost  thou  not  recol- 
lect, sister  ?" 

"  How  ?"  she  uttered,  astonished.  "  Art 
thou  that  young  painter  ?" 

"  No  other,  my  dear  sister  !  Yesterday, 
and  I  could  have  produced  thee  the  proof;  for 
Louis  possessed  the  portrait  for  a  long  time. 
The  rascal,  Beaucaire,  robbed  us  of  it.  But 
who  was  that  proud  English  fool  who  chal- 
lenged mp,  and  afterwards  failed  to  keep  his 
appointment?" 

"  Oh,  my  brother  !"  replied  Bianca,  "  thus 
early  did  1  derive  from  thee  a  weighty  benefit 
The  Englishman,  Lord  Glover,  was  the  bride 
groom  destined  for  me.  That  event  caused 
a  quarrel  between  him  and  my  father,  be- 
cause he  disapproved  of  the  nobleman's  hav- 
ing shrunk  from  the  duel.  So  the  offended 
pride  of  the  Englishman  soon  brought  about 
the  dissolution  of  a  scheme,  from  whirh,  not 
all  my  supplications  and  tears  could  procure 
my  escape." 

"  What !  would  they  have  forced  thee  ?" 
exclaimed  Bernard  impetuously. 

"  The  daughter  !"  replied  Bianca,  softly 
and  Srmly,  "  believed  it  to  be  her  duty  to  obey 
her  parent ;  her  heart  did  not  then  know  what 
love  was." 

"  But  afterwards  you  married,  sister?" 

Louis  sttrted  at  these  momentous  words. 

Bianca  blushed  deeply  ;  her  modesty  was 
pained,  as  she  replied  in  a  subdued  tone  : 

"  I  was  compelled  by  circumsfeinces.  I  bear 
now  the  name  of  Octialskoi.  But  I  know  you 
will  readily  forgive  your  innocent  sister." 

In  a  few  words  she  recounted  the  story 
of  her  m"-rriage.  Louis  sympathised  in  se- 
cret and  in  silence ;  but  Bernard's  proud 
spirit  was  fired  with  displeasure.  He  rose 
from  his  seat  and  paced  the  room  with  un- 
certain steps. 


"  Dear  sister !"  he  rpplied,  after  some 
minutes,  "  from  this  story,  I  learn  clearly 
that  our  welcome  here  is  but  on  a  precari- 
ous tenure.  We  have  enjoyed  an  hour  of 
sweet  intermission  iVom  misfortune;  but  we 
shall  be  necessarily  again  driven  into  action. 
Tell  m?,  is  Count  Doljiorow  aware  that  the 
secret  of  your  birtli  is  known  to  you  ?" 

"  He  knows  it  not.  I  have  been  silent  on 
the  subjt'ct,  being  desirous  not  to  involve 
Ruirhka's  brothers." 

And  do  you  still  apprehend  danger  in  de- 
claring your  sfcret  to  him  ?" 

'■  The  greatest,"  she  exclaimed  quickly. 

"  So  then,  you  really  fear " 

"  All,  my  brother — for  thee — for  myself — 
for  thy  friend !" 

"  Then  we  must  take  up  our  own  cause. 
The  strictest  secrecy,  however,  is  clearly 
necessary.  Sister,  I  have  but  one  more  ques- 
tion to  ask.  Will  you  accompany  us  to  Ger- 
many ?  Are  you  prepared  to  cast  aside 
rank,  power,  and  riches,  and  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  your  brother  and  your  friend,  who 
oflTer  nothing  beyond  their  hearts  and  hnnds." 
"  Oh,  my  brother !"  exclaimed  Bianca, 
throwing  her  arms  around  him,  "  can  you 
indeed  ask  if  I  am  willing  to  fulfil  the  most 
fervent  wish  of  my  heart  ?" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Bernard,  resolutely, 
"  this  is  the  course  we  have  to  pursue* — se- 
crecy for  the  present,  and  flight  so  "oon  as 
a  fit  opportunity  shall  offer.  And  now  we 
must  piirr.  for  the  present,  lest  our  pnitracted 
conversation  should  excite  suspicion.  To- 
morrow's sun  may  perhaps  throw  further  light 
upon  our  fortunes." 

In  Bernard's  decisive  character,  there  was 
ihe  true  spirit  of  control  which  commanded 
a  ready  obedience.  The  Princess  yielded  to 
it,  and  took  her  departure — yet  not  before  she 
bestowed  a  kind  embrace,  and  a  glance  of 
affecti  sn  upon  her  companions.  Sne  passed 
through  the  door  leading  to  the  apartments  of 
the  Countess.  Bernard  and  Lauis  betook 
themselves  to  their  bed-rooms. 

In  the  antechamber  Willhofen  awaited 
them.  He  had  been  assigned  to  them  as 
their  particular  attendant;  and  in  this  capa- 
city he  now  lighted  them  through  the  pas- 
sages to  their- room. 

"Friend — honest  servant  of  my  father! 
wilt  thou  adhere  as  faithfully  1o  the  son  as 
thou  didst  to  the  father?"  said  Louis,  as 
they  closed  the  door. 

"Sir!"  exclaimed  Willhof-n  joyfully, 
"  were  it  only  that  you  are  a  German,  and 
speak  my  own  language,  I  should  he  ready 
to  serve  you  !  But,  permit  me,  worthy  sir,  to 
offer  a  word  of  admonition.  You  are  standing 
on  a  dangerous  precipice  here.  The  Count 
and  the  Countess  Dolgorow  entertain  far 
other  views  than  does  the  Princess." 


S38 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


"  Willhofen !"  replied  Louis,  "  we  are  not 
blind  to  the  dangers  with  which  we  are  be- 
set— and  we  look  to  you  for  advice  how  we 
best  may  escape  from  them.  You  already 
know  so  much  of  our  history,  that  you  must 
necessarily  be  well  prepared.  The" Princess 
is  the  sister  of  my  friend,  and  my  betrothed. 
She  has  resolved  to  follow  us  to  Germany. 
Can  this  be  speedily  and  safely  done  ?" 

"  Possible,  it  is  indeed,"  answered  Will- 
hofen ;  "  but  very  difficult.  Do  you  suppose, 
if  it  were  really  easy,  I  would  not  have  fled 
long  since  ?  For  this  reason  alone,  I  in  my 
old  age  again  took  up  arms,  so  that  I  might 
approach  the  German  frontier  ;  for  I  hoped  to 
find  an  opportunity  for  flight.  But  hitherto, 
it  has  been  entirely  impossible,  and  especially 
is  it  so  now,  when  we  consider  the  multitude 
of  peasants,  and  Cossacks,  and  the  masses 
of  French  stragglers  that  cover  the  country. 
Into  whose  hands  soever  we  fall,  we  are 
surely  lost !  I  say  we,  worthy  master,  for 
you  will  allow  me,  I  hope,  to  fly  with  you  ?" 

"  We  hope  so,  too,  my  friend !"  replied 
Louis. 

"  If  you  do  but  secure  our  flight  hence,  my 
friend,"  said  Bernard,  "  you  shall  live  to  a 
happy  old  age  in  Germany." 

"Great  God!"  exclaimed  the  old  man; 
would  he  but  grant  the  declining  sun  of  my 
life  to  set  in  peace  over  that  land !  I  shall 
try  what  can  be  done.  I  possess  some  influ- 
ence with  the  Countess;  I'll  see  if  she  gives 
me  her  confidence ;  for  we  must  ascertain  at 
once  if  she  suspects  any  of  our  designs.  If 
her  suspicion  be  already  awakened,  then  we 
have  no  time  to  lose ;  our  only  chance  is  in 
good  fortune  and  promptitude." 

"  Do  what  you  think  best,  my  friend,"  said 
Louis,  "  and  bring  us  prompt  notice." 

Willhofen  left  the  room,  and  the  two  friends, 
undressing,  were  soon  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

"  The  Princess  nas  risen  long  since,"  said 
Willhofen,  entering  the  room  next  morning  ; 
"  but  she  ordered  me  expressly  not  to  awake 
you.     Yet,  it  is  time,  for  it  is  nearly  noon." 

"  Noon  !"  exclaimed  Bernard,  springing 
from  his  bed  with  a  feeling  of  shame. 

"  Oh '  the  Countess  is  also  still  in  her 
bed,"  answered  Willhofen ;  "  the  prisoners 
even  are  not  yet  marched  off;  yesterday  was 
a  day  of  hard  work  for  us  all," 

"  What  prisoners  ?"  asked  Bernard. 

"The  Frenchmen  we  seized  yesterday," 
replied  the  old  man.    "  See  there. — they  are 


forming  them  for  a  march  further  into  the 
country." 

Ber^jLrd  stepped  to  the  window.  The  sight 
of  twenty  unfortunate  men,  standing  with 
pale  faces — badly  clothed — half  dead  with 
hunger,  and  trembling  with  cold  or  terror, 
wounded  him  to  the  heart. 

"  Where  are  they  to  go  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Probably,"  answered  Willhofen,  in  a  tone 
of  pity,  "  where  I  languished  so  many  years 
— to  Siberia ;  the  way  thither  is  easily  found 
— but  back  from  there  is  difficult  indeed !" 

"  And  how  got  you  there  ?"  exclaimeMl 
Louis.  "  Who  had  the  right  to  send  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner  into  exile  ?" 

"  It  was  in  due  course  of  law,"  said  Will- 
hofen, bitterly.  "  Unknown  and  destitute  I 
was  thrown  on  the  coast.  A  Russian  inn- 
keeper lent  me  five  roubles — I  could  not  re- 
pay him.  For  this  my  services  were  duly 
made  over  to  him,  and  he  sold  me  to  old 
Prince  Ochalskoi,  who,  at  that  time,  was 
forming  a  colony  on  his  lands  near  Perm." 

"  What !  for  five  roubles  ?" 

"  For  eighteen  years  I  languished  in  exile, 
vainly  regretting  the  home  and  the  friends  I 
had  so  cruelly  lost." 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  old  friend  !"  said 
Bernard,  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
"  henceforth  things  will  mend.  The  day 
has  been  fine,  if  the  evening  be  serene.  But 
what  is  the  matter  here  ?  The  prisoners  ap- 
pear to  be  separating  again  ?" 

Willhofen  looked  out.  A  Cossack  had 
entered  on  horseback  into  the  yard,  and 
spoke  to  the  peasants  that  accompanied  the 
party. 

"I'll  soon  see  what's  the  matter!"  said 
Willhofen,  and  hastened  out  of  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  the  in- 
telligence that  Dolgorow  had  ordered  the 
prisoners  to  remain,  as  he  hoped  to  increase 
their  numbers  to-morrow  or  the  day  after,  by 
a  timely  attack  on  the  French  rear-guard. 

"  Then  do  me  the  favor,  friend,"  said  Ber- 
nard, "  to  see  that  these  unfortunate  men  are 
as  well  cared  for  as  possible." 

Willhofen  promised  to  do  his  best,  and 
went  away. 

Bernard  and  Louis,  meantime,  had  dressed 
themselves,  and  now  descended  to  the  sa- 
loon, where  they  had  been  informed  Bianca 
waited  for  their  appearance  at  the  breakfast 
table.  But  when  they  entered,  they  found 
the  apartment  vacant,  although  the  table  was 
prepared.  A  servant  soon  entered,  and  an- 
nounced to  them  from  the  Countess  Dolgo- 
row, that  the  Princess  would  not  make  her 
appearance. 

Louia  felt  annoyed,  but  Bernard  scarcely 
noticing  it,  sat  down  to  breakfast.  The  ser- 
vant having  retired,  Louis  observed : 

"  What  can  have  happened  ?  ■  Can  it  be 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


339 


that  the  indisposition  of  the  Countess  shoves 
symptoms  of  danger  ?  I  was  in  high  glee  in 
the  anticipation  of  oar  happy  reunion  this 
morning — for  I  believed  that  the  brilliant 
light  of  day  was  alone  wanting  to  throw  re- 
ahty  upon  our  good  fortune. 

"  If,  indeed,  there  be  no  fresh  evil  in  store 
for  us  to-day,"  said  Bernard,  as  he  rose 
from  the  table.  "  I  fear  there  is  no  good  at 
hand.  My  sister  could  not  have  prevailed 
upon  herself,  without  the  most  urgent  reason, 
to  neglect  to  welcome  again  a  lost  brother, 
only,  yesterday  reclaimed.  Let  us  be  particu- 
larly cautious  not  to  betray  ourselves  by  too 
many  earnest  inquiries." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  there  is  any  new 
peril  now  besetting  us  ?"  asked  Louis  with 
alarm. 

"  I  believe  anything  -that  is  possible,  may 
occur — but  I  fear'notbing !"  replied  Bernard, 
firmly.  "  Perhaps  it  is  only  prudence  on  the 
part  of  my  sister,  that  she  keeps  herself  pur- 
posely away  from  us  for  fear  of  betraying 
herself.  I  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  Russian  usages,  to  be  able  to  say  what 
is  and  what  is  not  befitting  the  character  of 
a  hostess.  We  must  have  confidence  in  her, 
for  she  has  exhibited  already  as  much  forti- 
tude as  love.  Exercise  but  a  reasonable 
amount  of  patience,  and  all  will  be  explained." 

Louis  was  not  satisfied — he  paced  the 
apartment  without  speaking. 

Soon  after  this,  Willhofen  returned  to  in- 
form them  that  the  prisoners,  in  consequence 
of  the  orders  of  the  Princess,  were .  well 
cared  for,  and  that  their  troubles  were  more 
on  account  of  the  fate  that  awaited  them, 
than  tlie  pressure  of  their  present  wants. 

Several  hours  elapsed,  yet  Bianca  did  not 
make  her  appearance. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

Bernard  proposed  to  Louis  to  walk  out 
into  the  fresh  air  ;  (he  latter  assented.  They 
passed  out  in  front  of  the  gates  of  the  castle, 
thus  getting  a  more  accurate  view  of  the 
building. 

It  was  surrounded  by  a  dense,  thickly 
overgrown  forest,  through  which  there  were 
hewn  out  four  broad  ways,  crossing  each 
other  at  right  angles.  These  roads  were 
well-trodden  ;  but  within  the  forest  the  snow 
lay  loose  and  deep,  so  that  it  was  evident 
that  the  traveller  could  not  quit  the  roads, 
with  any  reasonable  hope  of  penetrating  the 
forest  either  on  foot  or  mounted. 

"  The  building  seems  to  be  old,"  said  Ber- 
nard.   "  Gothic,  modern  Greek  Barbarian — 


*all  styles  mingled  together.  Both  those 
round-towers,  with  their  long,  thin  points, 
must  have  been  reared  in  former  ages.  How 
far  may  we  be  distant  here  from  the  great 
road?" 

"  Four  or  five  hours'  journey,  I  heard 
Willhofen  say,"  replied  Louis  ;  "  Smolensko 
lies  seven  hours  from  hence." 

"  So  I  too  estimate  the  distance,"  Bernard 
remarked.  "  It  must  lie  in  that  direction. 
We  should  be  obliged  to  take  our  way 
through  the  broad  alleys." 

"  It  is  the  same  by  which  we  arrived  yes- 
terday," said  Louis. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?"  exclaimed  Bernard  sud- 
denly, and  inclining  his  head  to  the  side 
whence  the  sound  came,  he  put  his  hand  to 
bis  ear  to  catch  the  distant  echo. 

"  That  is  the  thunder  of  cannon  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  great  road  ;  but  very  distant." 

"  The  forest  intercepts  the  sound,"  said 
Louis,  endeavoring  to  distinguish  the  remote 
and  confused  rumbling. 

"  It  is  probably  the  corps  of  Marshal  Ney 
repelling  an  assault — and  yet  further  proba- 
ble that  Rasinski  is  in  the  midst  of  the 
fight." 

"  Rasinski,"  exclaimed  Louis  :  "  what  anx- 
iety may  hk  noble  heart  not  be  suffering  on 
our  account !  Oh  !  that  I  could  communi- 
cate to  him  but  one  brief  notice  of  our  con- 
dition !" 

"  Really  it  would  be  desirable,"  said  Ber- 
nard  ;  but  he  shook  his  head,  as  if  the  wish 
were  impracticable. 

"  I  must  own,  that  comfortable  as  we  are 
in  this  castle,  I  nevertheless  would  prefer 
finding  myself  with  my  sister  under  his  pro- 
tection, to  remaining  here.  This  dreadful 
march  must  some  time  come  to  an  end. 
Every  day  we  would  be  nearer  home  and 
the  stores  of  the  army.  The  road  will  soon 
become  quite  level — I  believe  the  greatest 
difficulties  have  already  been  overcome." 

"  Ah,"  said  Louis,  "  if  we  could  but  once 
more  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  our  country." 

As  they  listened  to  the  distant  reverbera- 
tions, the  two  friends  continued  to  pace  up 
and  down.  In  the  meantime,  it  had  become 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  twilight  was  ap- 
proaching. They  re-entered  the  castle ;  this 
hour  having  been  intimated  to  them  as 
that  of  dinner.  The  cloth  was  already 
spread,  but  only  for  two  guests ;  even  Will- 
hofen could  not  give  any  further  information 
of  the  Princess,  or  the  reason  of  her  absence, 
except  that  probably  she  was  in  attendance 
upon  the  invalid  Countess. 

"  Keep  up  your  spirits  before  the  servants," 
whispered  Bernard  to  Louis,  who  felt  per- 
plexed in  the  extreme ;  "  no  one  should  be 
permitted  to  suspect  that  we  are  anxious 
about  anything." 


240 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


Siying  tliis,  ho  filled  a  glas^  of  wine,  and 

Kledged  Louis,  in  fimiliar  manner,  to  the 
ealtli  of  the  noble  inhabitants  of  the  castle 
During  the  whole  dinner  time  he  was  calm 
and  cheerful,  and  even  jested  with  ?he  ser- 
vant-<,  of  whom  Ire  asked  some  Russian 
wortis,  that  he  might  make  himself  under- 
stood hy  iliem.  IJecominjj  dark,  lights  were 
brought  in.  Bernard,  desirous  that  their 
conversation  should  not  flag,  commenced 
talking  about  Scotland.  Louis  listened  in 
secret  misgiving — his  fears  were  becoming 
more  and  more  vivid  every  moment.  U  was 
no\y  seven  o'clock  ;  the  ordinary  politeneiFS 
towards  guests  required  that  the  hostess 
should  vi^it  them.  Cianca  must  have  been 
hindered  by  the  most  urgent  circumstances. 

Partly  for  amusement,  partly  to  conceal 
his  disquietude,  each  had  taken  down  a  bonk 
from  the  [)ook-case  ;  and  sitting  on  either  side 
of  the  tnble,  they  began  to  read  a  volume  of 
Voltaire.  The  servants  in  the  meantime 
completed  their  duties,  and  left  the  room. 

But  scarcely  had  they  been  a  moment 
alone,  than  Willliofen  came  in,  looked  cau- 
tiously around,  and  finding  no  interruption, 
quietly  and  secretly  handed  a  note  to  Ber- 
nard. 

He  immediately  read  a  few  wwrds  written 
with  pencil  in  English :  "  D^r  brother, 
when  all  are  asiee}),  come  under  the  window 
of  my  bedroom." 

Having  run  his  eyes  over  this  important 
communicdtinn,  he  asked  Willhofen  if  he 
was  aware  uf  the  contents  of  the  note. 

"  I  believe  I  am,"  replied  the  man — "  it 
was  given  to  me  by  the  Princess'  waiting- 
woman." 

Bemird  took  a  few  unquiet  turns  np  and 
down  the  apartment.  After  some  inconclu- 
sive meditation,  he  asked  Willhofen  if  he 
knew  thesituatiim  of  the  Princess'  room. 

Th>>  man  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  VVtjeii  all  are  a-leep,  1  must  be  under 
her  window.  Can  you  conduct  me  thither 
with  safety  and  certainty  ?" 

"  Easily  enoujrh,  sir,"  replied  Willhofen, 
•and  in  the  meantime,  1  shill  take  good 
care  that  the  watchman  shall  tind  itanea.-ier 
job  to  open  the  old  gate  than  his  own 
eyes." 

"  What  time  do  the  people  go  to  bed  ?" 

"Before  midnight;  at  twelve  o'clock  we 
are  safe — except  the  thieving  mice  we  shall 
meet  no  living  creature  about  |he  castle." 

'•  Then  come  to  us  about  that  hour,  in  our 
own  apartments,  and  remember,  my  friend, 
this  is  an  important  service  you  have  to 
render  me." 

Willhofen  assented,  and  for  the  present 
took  his  leave. 

Bernard  and  Louis  soon  afterwards  retired 
to  their  own  room,  where  they  impatiently 


awaited  the  arrival  of  midnii^ht.     The  hours 
appeared  to  creep  slowly  along. 

They  listened  anxiously  to  every  sound  in 
the  castle.  They  heard  with  nervous,  inter- 
est the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  various 
doors,  the  footsteps  of  the  servants  along 
the  passages  and  upon  the  stairs,  and  the 
voices  of  those  who  called  and  those  v\  ho 
answered.  Occasionally  unbroken  silence 
would  prevail  for  the  space  of  several  min- 
utes;— then  suddenly  the  drawing  of  a  bolt, 
or  the  noise  of  some  other  domestic  work, 
would  again  interrupt  the  stillcess  of.  the 
hour.  Thus  they  kept  their  impatient  watch, 
until  it  seemed  that  the  whole  castle  was 
deep  buried  in  slumber. 

"All  Is  still  as  the  grave,"  said  Bernard, 
quietly  opening  the  door,  and  thrusting  his 
head  into  the  corridor. 

"  It  must  be  near  midnight ;  I  wish  Will- 
hofen  would  come  and  relieve  us  from  our 
uncertainty." 

Louis  was  tormented  with  the  alternations 
of  hope  and  fear.  But  he  said  little,  not  de- 
siring to  increase  Bernard's  apparent  inqui- 
etude. 

'•  How  the  wind  whistles  through  the 
chimney  !  It  may  be  a  beautiful  night  with- 
out, but  T  think  it  has  become  somewhat 
colder.  Our  windows  are  covered  with  frost 
in  spite  of  the  glowing  stove.  But  hark  ! 
there  is  a  rustling  sound  along  the  passage. 
It  is  approaching  the  door. .  Probably  it  is 
Willhofen — that  old  man  is  a  fox  ;  he  comes 
softly  upon  his  toes,  and  I  believe  without 
shoes." 

He  listened,  he  heard  as  it  were  the  sound 
of  a  step  cautiously  advancing.  Bernard, 
partially  opening  the  door,  whispered  : 

'•  Is  it  you,  friend  ?" 

"  It  is  I,"  answered  the  gentle  voice  of  a 
female,  who  at  the  same  time  pushed  open 
the  door,  and  entered  the  room.  She  seem- 
ed to  be  the  Princess'  maid-servant,  who  ap- 
peared to  have  assumed  a  partial  disguise,  as 
her  features  were  half-concealed  in  a  ker- 
chief bound  routid  her  head. 

The  two  friends  htood  mute.  Bernard 
suspecting  some  unlucky  mischance  of  an 
intrigue,  peevishly  said  to  her,  "  You  are  in 
error  here,  young  woman." 

"  No.  I  have  not  missed  the  light  door," 
answered  the  girl,  in  a  well-known  voice,  at 
the  same  time  taking  off  the  kerchief  which 
covered  half  her  (ace.     It  was  Bianca. 

"  Sister,  is  it  you,  in  this  disguise  1"  ex- 
claimed Bernard  ;  "  for  heaven's  sake,  what 
does  all  this  mean  ?" 

"  Necessity  has  imposed  this  course  upon 
me  !"  replied  Bianca ;  "  being  a  Cfiptive,  I 
could  reach  you  only  in  disguise." 

"  You  a  captive  7"  exclaimed  both  Bor- 
nard  and  Louis.  , 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


241 


*  Let  me  be  quick,  for  the  moments  are 
precious,"  replied  Bianca.    "  I  fear  our  se- 
cret is  half  if  not  entirely  betrayed.     We 
must  have  been  watched  yesterday.     When 
I  left  you  and   repaired  to  the  Countess,  I 
found  her  in  the  greatest  excitement ;  she 
sat  up  nearly  dressed  on  the  sofa  in  waiting 
for  me.    Upon  my  entering  the  room,  she 
hastily  collected  her  papers,  and  began  to 
speak  of  indifferent   matters ;    but   in   her 
countenance  her  extreme  disquietude   was 
not  to  be  mistaken.     Although  I  suspected 
what  might  have  happened,  I  made  no  inqui- 
ries through  fear  of  arousing  her  temper,     i 
betook  rnyself  very  shortly  to  my  work-room, 
which  is  contiguous  to  the  dwelling-room  of 
the  Countess ;  and  thence  to  my  bed-room, 
where  Jeannette  was  waiting  for  me.    I  suf- 
fered her  to  undress  me  at  once,  and  then  I 
sent  her  away.     Full  of  apprehension  I  did 
not  lie  down.     Slightly  opening  the  door  of 
my  work-room,  I  discovered  that  the  Count- 
ess was  yet  awake,  and  that  she  was  con- 
versing with  some  one.     I  could  not  distin- 
guish what  was  said,  but  I  thought  I  recog- 
nised the  voice  of  the  Count's  confidential 
valet.     At  length,  all  became  entirely  silent, 
and  I  went  to  rest.     But  in  the  night  I  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  gate  open  and  a  sleigh 
driving  away.     This   morning  I   presented 
myself  to  my  foster-mother.     So  strong  were 
the  traces  of  doubt  and   suspicion  on   her 
countenance,  that  I  could  not  but  believe 
that  our  secret  was  at  least  partially  discov- 
ered.   But  the  Countess  betrayed  nothing 
in  words.     I  had  already  resolved  on  taking 
breakfast   by  myself  in  my   own   room,   to 
avoid  giving  cause  for   observation ;  but  I 
would  have  come  to  dinner.     The  Countess, 
however,  intimated  to  me  that  she  expected  I 
would  pass  the  day  with  her,  it  not  being 
seemly  that  I  should,  while  she  remained 
indisposed,  dine  alone  with  two  strangers. 
She  added,  that  it  might  lead  to  some  diffi- 
culty if  I  continued  intercourse  with  .you 
during  the  absence  of  the  Count.     I  submit- 
ted to  her  will ;  but  1  was  more  and  more 
confirmed  in  what  I  had  surmised,  that  some- 
thing must  have  transpired.     In  the  course 
of  the  forenoon  I  was  going  into  my  room, 
when  I  perceived  accidentally  that  the  door 
leading  into  the  corridor  was  fastened,  and 
the  key  taken  away.     Now  I  saw  through 
all ;  I  was  a  prisoner  of  the  Countess  ;  she 
must  have  learnt  our  secret.     The  Count's 
valet  has  not  made  his  appearance  during  the 
day ;  I  suppose   he   has  been  sent  to  the 
Count.     I  resolved  therefore  to  inform  thee, 
my  brother,  of  all  these  matters — and  I  sent 
thee  a  note  by  means  of  Jeannette  and  Sola- 
now.     But  I  reflected  afterwards  that  our 
conversation  at  the  window  might  prove 
very    dangerous.      I    requested    Jeannette, 
16 


therefore,  to  remain  in  my  room  all  night, 
under  the  pretext  that  I  was  myself  fatigued, 
and  particularly  indisposed.  When  she  had 
fallen  asleep,  I  quietly  put  on  her  clothes, 
and  passed  undetected  through  the  room  of 
the  Countess.  And  now  I  ask  thee,  my 
brother,  what  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  Immediate  flight  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
only  means  of  safety,"  Bernard  instantly  re- 
plied. "  If  it  were  possible  to  reach  Smo- 
lensko  this  very  night !" 

"  Possible  it  certainly  is.  But,  are  we  to 
encounter  such  an  extremity  before  com- 
pelled by  peril  so  to  do  ?  Oh  !  my  brother! 
although  the  sacred  bond  of  love  and  confi- 
dence, which  should  connect  the  hearts  of  pa- 
rents and  chiMren,  has  been  rudely  torn  asun- 
der, nevertheless,  I  feel  myself  fettered  by  a 
thousand  ties  of  duty  and  gratitude.  Must  I 
separate  myself  from  them  as  a  stealthy  fu- 
gitive, in  the  night-time  ?  If  at  length  so 
compelled  to  act,  tny  conscience  will,  at  least, 
upbraid  me  with  cruelty  and  cold  ingrati- 
tude." 

"  But,  dear  sister,  what  will  you  do  ?"  re- 
plied Bernard.  "  You  confess  that  you  dare 
not  acknowledge  your  brother  before  your 
assumed  parents.  Besides,  have  they  been 
actuated  by  parental  love  in  their  dealings  ? — 
or,  have  they  not  rather  sacrificed  you,  for 
the  unworthy  purpose  of  making  a  profit  out 
of  your  beauty  ?" 

"  It  IS  but  too  true !  But  the  germs  of 
duty  implanted  in  the  breast  of  infancy,  have, 
in  the  course  of  eighteen  summers,  matured 
into  strength.  I  once  loved  my  parents  with 
deep  veneration,  for  I  had  received  only  ben- 
efits at  their  hands  ;  now,  indeed,  experience 
has  rendered  that  love  cold  and  formal.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  heart  has  been  robbed  of 
its  warm  spirit  of  filial  love,  it  must  ever  re- 
main bound  by  the  ties,  and  subject  to  the 
calls  of  gratitude.  The  benefits  we  receive 
from  others,  although  they  may  not  have  ori- 
ginally flowed  from  pure  motives,  are  not  less 
binding  on  our  conscience.  And  now,  bro- 
ther,  I  throw  myself  upon  you  for  advice. 
Your  firm  decision  and  manly  arm  must  di- 
rect and  protect  me  amid  these  doubts  and 
difficulties." 

As  she  said  this,  she  took  his  hand  and 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  an  earnest  and 
imploring  gaze. 

"  Thou  art  right,  sister,"  he  answered  ; — 
"  noble  alike  in  thy  womanly  patience  and  in 
thine  all-forgiving  heart !  I,  with  my  prouder 
and  harsher  feelings,  think  otherwise,  and  in 
my  own  way,  am  right  also.  We  must  fly," 
he  added,  decisively ; "  I  urge  thee  to  that 
course,  and  will  take  all  the  responsibility 
upon  myself.  You  must  accompany  us,  sis- 
ter— it  is  necessary — and  this  step  must  be 
taken,  let  what  will  follow." 


342 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


"  Yes,  I  believe  he  is  right,"  said  Louis, 
approaching  the  object  of  hia  heart.  "  In  this 
case,  the  authority  of  the  brother  is  superior 
to  any  that  can  detain  you  here." 

"  There  may  be  a  greater,  and  that  may  be 
thine,"  said  Bernard,  gravely.  "  Do  not  blush, 
sister,  and  mistrust  not  its  truth,  because  it 
happens  at  the  same  time  to  coincide  with 
the  warmest  desires  of  thine  own  heart.  I 
know  full  well  that  noble-hearted  men  are 
ever  afraid  to  do  that  which  is  rioht,  if  it 
chance  to  be  in  accordance  with  their  private 
desires.  The  most  self-denying  are  not  alone 
or  always  the  most  virtuous.  Confide  in  me, 
I  can  decide  dispassionately;  break  the  fetters 
which,  forged  half  by  love,  half  by  power, 
hinders  the  free  decision  of  thy  will."         . 

"  Well,  thus  shall  it  be,"  she  said,  after 
some  moments  of  internal  conflict;"!  obey 
thee,  my  brother !" 

"  And  instantly,"  interrupted  Bernard ;  "  for 
every  minute's  delay  is  pregnant  w^ith  dan- 
ger." 

'*  And  whither  do  you  design  to  fly  ?"  asked 
Bianca. 

"  To  Smolensko." 

"  What !"  she  exclaimed  in  alarm  ;  "  and 
does  not  the  sword  of  death  there  hang  over 
your  head  ?" 

"  Sinre  our  cruel  accusers  have  so  fear- 
fully perished,"  answered  Louis,  "  I  do  not 
apprehend  any  future  peril.  Not  our  crimes, 
but  the  desire  to  make  us  criminal,  brought 
us  into  jpftpardy." 

"  Then  1  will  readily  go  along  with  you 
even  thither.  Willhofen  will  find  us  a  sleigh." 

"  We  expect  him  here  every  moment,  be- 
cause he  engaged  to  conduct  me  at  midnight 
to  the  window,"  answered  Bernard.  "  But 
what  is  that  noise  ?  Hark  ! — the  crack  of 
whips  and  sound  of  bells,  quite  distinct  !" 

Bianca  grew  pale. 

"  A  sleii^h  is  driving  up  to  the  gate  of  the 
castle.    It  is  my  father !" 

"  Whether  he  be  there  or  not,"  exclaimed 
Bernard,  "  now  is  the  moment  for  flight. 
Hasten  back  to  thy  room,  sister,  before  the 
arrival  of  the  ?leigh  shall  awake  the  people 
in  the  house.  As  soon  as  all  shall  be  quiet 
again  I  will  be  under  thy  window." 

He  made  her  haste  away.  She  glided  with 
hasty  steps  down  the  long  corridor.  Scarcely 
had  she  vanished  when  the  approachinif  sleigh 
stopped  before  the  gate  of  the  castle ;  and  so 
loud  and  vehement  was  the  knocking,  that  it 
could  not  be  doubted  the  proprietor  himself 
was  demanding  admittance. 

The  gate  opened.  Bernard  listened  through 
the  half-open  door.  Two  men  came  up  the 
stairs,  but  a  confused  noise  of  voices  led  to 
the  conjecture,  that  others  who  had  arrived 
remained  below.  Now  Bernard  recognised 
the  valet,  who,  with  a  girandole  in  his  hand 


lighted  a  gentleman,  closely  enveloped  ia 
furs,  whom  Louis  declared  to  be  the  Count. 
He  took  his  way  to  the  apartments  of  the 
Countess.  Again,  all  became  silent — not  a 
sound  was  to  be  heard. 

Bernard  and  Louis  waited  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  anxious  expectation.  Then  a 
gentle  knock  was  heard  at  the  door; — it  was 
Willhofen.  The  benevolent  and  intelligent 
old  man  had  already  divined  almost  the  whole 
particulars  of  the  matter.  He  was  of  opinion 
that  for  this  night  there  was  nothing  more  to 
be  Attempted,  without  rendering  the  situation 
of  affairs  more  perilous  than  at  present.  Un- 
der this  view,  he  undertook  to  throw  a  note 
from  Bernard  into  the  window  of  the  Prin- 
cess, making  her  acquainted  with  the  resolu- 
tion at  which  they  had  arrived.  Having  suc- 
cessfully accomplished  this  object,  he  returned 
to  make  his  report,  and  engaged  to  watch  ac- 
curately every  movement,  and  give  timely 
notice  of  all  that  should  happen. 

The  night  was  passed  by  all  parties  in  a 
state  of  feverish  excitement,  and  sleep  was 
perpetually  disturbed  by  so  many  sources  o* 
uneasiness. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

The  Countess  Dolgorow  had  conjectured 
rather  than  discovered  the  relation  which 
Bianca  bore  to  her  guests.  By  accident  Jean- 
nette  had  betrayed  liie  secret,  and  it  happened 
in  this  way  : — At  the  moment  Bianca  first  re- 
cognized her  brother,  Jeannette  came  with  a 
message  for  her  mistress.  Arriving  at  the 
door,  she  heard  loud  and  earnest  expressions 
used,  and  distinguished  the  words, "  brother" 
and  "  sister."  Surprised  at  these  words,  she 
stopped  and  listened,  but  without  any  un- 
worthy design,  beyond  curiosity.  Willhofen 
and  other  servants  appro.iched,  and  thr  sound 
of  their  steps  on  the  corridor  was  heard  by 
Louis,  wJio  had  not  detected  the  lighter  steps 
of  the  girl.  The  approach  of  these  people 
had  interrupted  the  first  confidential  endear- 
ments of  the  brother  and  sister.  Jeannette 
probably  remarked  on  her  entrance,  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  had  occurred.  The  Count's 
valet,.  James,  happened  to  be  the  girl's  favored 
admirer,  and  commanded  her  confidence.  In 
the  weakness  usual  to  her  sex,  the  girl 
thoughtlessly  communicated  to  him  all  her 
observations,  and  perhaps  a  little  more,  little 
dreaming  that  in  so  doing  she  put  in  fearful 
jeopardy  the  fortunes  and  the  happiness  of 
her  beloved  mistress.  But  James  was  cun- 
ning enough  in  dealing  with  matters  of  this 
kind. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


343 


"  Listen,  Jeannette,"  said  he  to  her ;  "  if  the 
Princess  tells  you  nothing  about  these  matters, 
by  no  means  betray,  by  word  or  look,  thj^t 
you  know  or  suspect  anything  about  them. 
There  is  nothing  more  dangerous  for  servants 
than  to  detect  secrets  of  their  masters  and 
mistresses  against  their  will.  Although  it 
may  at  first  appear  to  be  advantageous,  yet 
in  the  end  it  is  always  attended  with  unpro- 
fitable conseqliences.  We  are  compelled, 
therefore,  even  under  palpable  circumstances, 
to  observe  a  discreet  silence." 

The  intimidated  girl  was  by  this  warning 
deterred  from  holding  any  communication 
with  her  mistress  ;  and,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions herself,  she  did  not  suspect  mischief  in 
others.  But  James  commenced  a  system  of 
espionage  so  adroit,  that,  in  the  course  of 
an  hour  or  two,  he  had  succeeded  in  discover- 
ing that  the  Princess,  at  least,  concealed  her 
thoughts  and  views  from  the  knowledge  of  the 
Countess.  This  was  a  sufficient  basis  for  his 
operations,  and  he  determined  to  make  the 
best  use  of  his  knowledge,  so  far  as  it  tended 
for  his  own  advantage.  He  repaired  accord- 
ingly to  the  Countess,  and,  speaking  to  her  at 
first  only  in  hints,  he  was  gratified  to  find  that 
the  lady  entered  with  the  deepest  interest 
into  the  nature  of  his  communications  ;  and, 
with  this  encouragement,  he  proceeded  to  en- 
large upon  all  he  knew,  as  well  as  all  he  was 
disposed  to  suspect.  The  Countess  promised 
him  a  rich  reward  if  he  would  be  silent  to 
everybody,  and  fulfil  only  her  orders  in  this 
matter.  James,  avaricious,  astute,  and  enter- 
prising, agreed  to  the  terms,  without  saying  a 
word  thereon  to  Jeannette,  whose  devotion  to 
the  Princess  he  well  knew ;  the  same  night  he 
set  oft'  with  letters  from  the  Countess  to  her 
husband,  and  had  now  returned  with  him. 
The  information  must  have  proved  to  the 
Count  of  the  most  vital  importance,  since  for 
a  season  he  suspended  his  zealous  persecu- 
tion of  the  enemies  of  his  country,  for  the 
purpose  of  looking  atVer  his  own  atfairs. 

He  found  tlie  Countess,  whose  indisposi- 
tion had  its  origin  in  unusual  fatigue,  yet  un- 
dressed. The  mental  excitement  in  wliich  she 
had  been  since  yesterday  had  restored  her  to 
the  full,  th(j)ugh  morbid,  force  of  her  energies. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  say  to  my  discovery  ?" 
she  I'.ceosted  him,  when  she  found  herself 
alone  with  him.  "  What  do  you  resolve  to 
do  r' 

"  First  of  all,"  replied  Dolgorow,  "  I  must 
know  how  far  your  information  is  correct, 
and  whether  Feodorowna  is  aware  that  you 
are  acquainted  with  her  present  condition." 

The  Co\intess,  in  relating  her  story,  did  not 
forget  the  measures  of  precaution  she  had 
taken  all  day  to  prevent  a  meeting  of  the  bro- 
ther and  sister.  Dolgorpw,  during  the  whole 
narration,  paced  with  folded  arms,  up  and 


down  the  apartment — a  deep  gloom  settled 
upon  his  brow. 

"  And  which  of  the  two  strangers  is  to  be  the 
brother  ?"  he  asked,  as  the  Countess  finished. 

With  marked  confusion,  the  Countess  con- 
fessed that  she  did  not  know.  She  had  hith- 
erto certainly  supposed  it  to  be  Louis,  hav- 
ing been  naturally  led  to  this  conclusion  by 
her  own  observation  of  the  manner  in  which 
Bianca  had  treated  him,  and  of  which  she  had 
complained.  But  now  that  the  Count  put 
the  question  direct  to  her,  she  at  once  per- 
ceived that  there  was  a  difficulty  for  which 
she  could  not  satisfactorily  account,  and  which 
appeared  to  involve  the  whole  matter  in  doubt 

"  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  you  re- 
sorted to  the  unfortunate  measuxe  of  confin- 
ing her,"  said  Dolgorow,  whose  tone  of  voice 
betrayed  displeasure.  "  I  do  not  comprehend 
of  what  use  it  could  be  to  you.  It  was  only 
an  unhappy  resort  to  the  severity  of  maternal 
authority,  which,  since  her  marriage,  has  no 
longer  any  legitimate  existence.  How  did 
she  bear  this  interference  with  her  personal 
liberty?" 

"  She  did  not  make  any  objection  to  it." 
replied  the  Countess,  perplexed. 

"  Then  there  is  at  least  some  hope  that  she 
did  not  detect  your  object,"  said  the  Count, 
and  he  expressed  himself  as  relieved  of  a 
portion  of  his  anxiety. 

The  Countess,  it  is  true,  knew  very  well 
that  it  was  otherwise,  for  the  proof  was  ma- 
nifested to  her  eyes  all  day,  in  the  fact  that 
her  own  room  had  been  the  only  passage  for 
the  servant  girl.  But  she  confirmed  Dol- 
gorow's  presumption  that  she  might  escape 
Ills  further  reproaches,  whicii  were  not  very 
delicately  conveyed  to  her  ears. 

'•  That  may  eave  us  much  trouble,"  he 
said  with  more  tranquillity :  «'  and  even  if  the 
Princess  should  really  have  noticed  the  fact, 
the  whole  may  be  represented  as  an  accident 
imputable  to  the  servants.  For  this  night, 
therefore,  we  can  undertake  nothing  further ; 
to-morrow,  I  myself,  will  see  and  observe. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  take  no  more  steps  in  this 
matter,  until  we  at  least  know  -exactly  how 
far  our  secret  is  betrayed.  That  this  fellow 
James  should  know  anything  of  our  afl^airs, 
is  in  itself  a  great  evil.  It  is  true,  the  whole 
truth  is  a  paradox  to  him,  and  I  can  easily 
perceive  he  does  not  doubt  but  that  Feodo- 
rowna is  our  own  daughter ;  but  he  thinks 
an  unexpectedly-returned  brother  to  be  a  son, 
whom  we,  for  some  good  reason  best  known  to 
ourselves,  have  hitherto  kept  at  a  distance. 
Yes,  I  suspect  his  sole  object  and  design  was, 
to  excite  your  jealousy  by  the  discovery.  But 
this  is  of  little  importance.  It  is  only  un- 
fortunate that  such  a  fellow  should  have  any 
occasion  to  indulge  remarks  or  saspicions  on 
such  a  subject." 


d44 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


Dolgorow  was  silent  for  a  time  while  he 
paced  to  and  fro  in  deep  meditation.  But 
the  importance  of  the  subject  compelled  him 
to  resume : 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  but  a  false  alarm. 
Yet  the  more  need  have  we  to  be  cautious 
in  our  proceedings,  for  we  cannot  know  how 
long  Feodorowna  and  her  presumptive  brother 
have  been  in  secret  communication,  and 
whether  or  not  they  have  had  the  precaution 
to  deposit  their  proofs  in  places  which  are 
inaccessible  to  us.  We  might  in  this  latter 
case  be  thrown  into  a  most  fearful  dilemma. 
I  shall  not  know  the  whole  until  to-morrow. 
It  is  true,  I  came  with  the  resolution  of  tak- 
ing at  once  the  most  decided  steps,  and  I 
think,  Countess,  you  know  me  well  enough 
to  be  aware  that  I  do  not  hesitate  in  my  pro- 
jects. We  are  not  so  timid  and  weak-hearted 
in  Russia  ;  I  know  as  well  as  others  in  these 
dominions,  that  an  obstacle  in  our  path  must 
be  removed  at  any  hazard.  But  there  is  no 
need  of  haste  !  Perhaps  I  may  succeed  in 
finding  a  better  and  surer  way  by  going 
round  the  bush.  Good  night ! — I  shall  sleep 
more  quietly  than  I  believed.  Yet  one 
thing, — we  must  not  contradict  ourselves. 
My  arrival  here  was  accidental ;  do  you  un- 
derstand, Countess,  accidental !  For  the 
rest,  I  shall  be  the  first  to-morrow  kindly  to 
greet  Feodorowna,  and  express  my  surprise 
and  anger  that  her  door  was  locked." 

Saying  this,  he  took  his  leave,  following 
James,  who  waited  for  him  in  the  ante-cliam- 
ber,  to  his  own  room. 

But  the  disquieting  state  of  his  mind  suf- 
fered him  not  to  sleep  ;  the  long  slumbering 
conscience  was  deeply  and  rudely  awakened. 
Whatever  might  be  the  denouement  of  this 
strange  drama,  he  at  least  learned  that  the 
seed  of  crime,  be  it  ever  so  deeply  buried — 
be  it  ever  so  widely  scattered  by  the  storm 
— will  yet  germinate  until  its  bitter  fruits  are 
fully  matured. 

"  Fool !"  he  soliloquised,  "  why  dost  thou 
so  torment  thyself?  Thy  ends  are  secured 
— thou  art  in  possession,  and  who  shall  de- 
spoil thee  ?  But  if  the  Ochalskois  should 
discover  that  there  had  been  deceit  ?  As  fa- 
ther of  Feodorowna,  even  thy  rights  are  valu- 
able !  But  who  will  contest  tliem  with  thee  ? 
The  lips  of  the  only  being  who  could  have 
testified,  are  sealed  forever — Rushka  sleeps ! 
Vain  phantoms  of  a  diseased  imagination, 
why  should  they  terrify  me  ?" 

Nevertheless,  they  did  torment  him  until 
morning  dawned  upon  the  scene. 

In  the  meantime,  his  plans  were  matured,  and 
he  possessed  dexterity  and  power  to  execute 
them.  His  first  visit  was  to  Bernard  and 
Louis,  whom  he  welcomed  as  guests  to  his 
house.  W^ith  the  experience  of  a  courtier 
he  played  the  obliging  host,  inquiring  after 


their  health,  and  into  the  manner  of  their  re- 
ception and  entertainment,  without  betraying 
the,  remotest  clue  to  his  insincerity.  Louis, 
knowing  the  world  little,  and  whose  noble 
heart  was  never  easily  aroused  to  suspicion, 
would  have  readily  permitted  himself  to  be 
deceived  by  this  conduct.  Bernard,  on  the 
contrary,  feared  evil  the  more,  the  more 
gracious  the  Count  feigned  himself  to  be ; 
he  therefore  assumed  the  same*mask  in  re- 
turn, and  pretended  to  yield  him  his  most 
open  and  generous  confidence,  while  cau- 
tioasly  concealing  his  inward  sentiments. 
He  succeeded  to  admiration  in  playing  the 
part  of  a  confiding  recipient  of  the  Count'* 
bountiful  kindness.  He  proceeded  even  so 
far  in  this,  that  he  openly  related  to  the 
Count  his  adventure  with  Bianea  in  London  : 
"  I  arp  that  painter,"  he  said,  with  all  the 
ease  of  the  world's  man.  "  We  artists  claim 
a  fair  countenance  to  a  certain  degree  as  our 
property,  and  who  can  forbid  us  ?  There- 
fore, you  must,  my  dear  Count,  excuse  my 
familiarity  with  the  lady — a  familiarity  which, 
by  courtesy,  ought  not  to  be  judged  by  the 
ordinary  laws  of  conventional  propriety." 

"  We  are  not  such  barbarians  here  in 
Russia  t"  replied  Dolgorow,  with  a  smile, 
"as  not  to  concede  to  the  artist  so  sacred  a 
privilege.      But  do  you  possess  the  portrait  ?" 

"  I  had  it  two  days  ago,  or  rather  my  friend 
here,  to  whom  I  made  it  a  present,  since  it 
awakened  in  his  mind  some  agreeable  re- 
membrances. His  pocket-book,  in  which  it 
was  kept,  was  taken  from  him  by  those  vil- 
lains, who,  by  your  command,  I  learn,  yes- 
terday received  their  just  doom.  In  whose 
hands  it  now  is,  I  know  not." 

"  There  were  delivered  to  me  yesterday," 
replied  Dolgorow :  "  two  pocket-books,  one  of 
which  was  found  on  the  prisoners.  But  I 
own  I  have  not  yet  thought  to  open  them.  I 
am  now,  indeed,  desirous  of  seeing  if  this  por- 
trait be  there." 

Saying  this,  he  hastened  to  his  room,  and 
returned  with  two  pocket-books,  one  of 
which  he  held  opened  in  his  hand.  It  was 
the  one  belonging  to  Louis.  The  Count, 
holding  the  picture  towards  Bernard,  ob- 
served : 

"  Do  you  recognise  your  work  ?" 

"  How  should  I  not  ?" 

"Then  it  is  just  that  you  take  back  your 
property." 

"  It  is,  as  I  said,  no  longer  mine,  but  that 
of  my  friend." 

The  Count  handed  to  Louis  the  pocket 
book,  out  of  which  all  the  papers  had  vanisli- 
ed.  Dolgorow  had  but  just  taken  ^hem  out, 
inasmuch  as  he  hoped  to  find  some  informa- 
tion in  them.  He  excused  himself  by  observ- 
ing, that  the  pocket-book  had  been  handed 
over  to  him  in  this  condition ;  so  that  proba- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


945 


My  fieancaire  had  already  rifled  it  of  its  con- 
tentb.  The  second  pocket-book  was  neitlier 
Bernard's  nor  Louis'  property;  the  Count, 
therefore,  retained  it,  and  retired  for  the  pur- 
pose of  paying  Feodorowna  a  morning  visit, 

"  It  is  of  infinite  value  to  me  that  this  por- 
trait has  come  again  into  my  possession,"  said 
Ix)uis.  "  1  feel  myself  quite  happy  and  at  ease; 
all  danger  seems  to  be  passsd,  and  the  Count 
is  a  man,  I  should  think,  worthy  of  all  confi- 
dence." 

"  Truly,  one  might  laugh,"  said  Bernard, 
'  "  if  the  lime  and  the  place  were  not  more 
convenient  for  cursing  or  praying !  We  might 
merrily  exult  indeed,  were  it  not  that  so  wise 
and  good  a  man  as  thou  art  is  as  blind  as 
an  owl.  Oh,  Louis !  Louis !  thou  art  too  good 
for  this  world — as  I  fear  my  sister  is  also — 
seeing  she  suffers  herself  to  be  so  deceived. 
Will  you  then  remain  an  infant  through  life, 
and  willingly  cherish  a  snake  in  your  bosom, 
because  it  has  a  variegated  skin  ?  Will  you 
never  learn  that  the  beautiful  but  ferocious 
tiger  feigns  sleep  when  most  intent  upon  his 

£rey  ?  Is  not  a  trap  baited  to  allure  its  victim  ? 
>o  not  roses  conceal  thorns  ?  Louis,  Louis  ! 
this  smiling  courtesy  of  Dolgorow  is,  to  my 
mind,  more  foreboding  to  us,  than  if  he  stood 
before  us  with  a  drawn  sword  1" 

"  You  look  too  much  on  the  dark  side  of 
things,  Bernard,"  replied  Louis. 

"  You  think  so  ?"  returned  Bernard,  almost 
scornfully.  "Is  it  nothing,  that  Bianca  is  a 
prisoner  ?  This  hasty  arrival  by  night,  is  it, 
think  you,  an  accident  ?  Louis,  if  the  means  of 
escape  were  now  open  to  us,  it  would  be  far 
more  prudent  to  take  our  instant  departure 
than  remain  nere  another  hour.  Were  it 
not  for  my  sister,  you  and  I  should  leave 
this  accursed  place  before  the  next  hour 
strikes." 

Willhofen  entered,  interrupting  their  dis- 
course. He  announced  breakfast  awaiting. 
They  descended  to  the  saloon.  Here  they 
waited  alone  for  some  minutes,  when  Dol- 
gorow made  his  appearance.  He  was  as 
courteous  as  before,  invited  tliera  to  be 
seated,  and-  himself  offered  them  chocolate 
and  viands, 

"  Our  ladies,"  he  said,  "  rise  somewhat 
late.  We  probably  shall  not  see  them  be- 
fore dinner.  The  Countess  was  yesterday  a 
little  indisposed,  and  this  circumst;uice  de- 
prived the  Princess  of  the  pleasure  of  per- 
forming the  duties  of  hostess  towards  you. 
I  think  they  will  to-day  make  up  for  their 
former  neglect." 

Bernard  ventured  to  introduce  the  subject 
of  politics. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  not  converse  on 
thi.s  topic,"  replied  the  Count,  with  much 
suavity.  "  I  myself  being  a  Russian,  should 
perhaps  be  obliged  to  tlunk  quite  otherwise 


than  you,  who  have  your  old  assooinles  in  the 
French  urmy.  it  i.s  of  peiuiiar  interest  to 
me,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  have  mot  with 
both  of  you  elsewhere.  When  we  were 
accidentally  separated  at  the  foot  of  the 
Simplon,  over  which,  through  your  kind  and 
effectual  aid,"  he  added,  addressing  Louis, 
"  we  so  happily  made  good  our  passage,  I 
turned  again  tlu'ough  the  mountains  to  I^rne 
— departed  thence  to  the  Tyrol,  and  gained 
the  great  road  to  iMunich.  In  passing  through 
Germany  we  experienced  no  molestation  until 
wearriv(;d  at  Warsaw,  where  we  were  on  the 
point  of  being  betrayed,  and  it  was  only  after 
strict  and  cautious  concealment  among  our 
friends  that  we  finally  succeeded  in  escaping 
by  night." 

"  We  were  also  at  Warsaw,"  said  Louis. 

Bernard  made  a  sign  to  Louis  to  be  cau- 
tious in  his.speecli ;  he  immediately  interposed 
his  own  remarks  on  general  subjects,  and 
alluded  only  in  a  cursory  and  indefinite  man- 
ner to  their  residence  there.  Tiie  Count 
asked  a  variety  of  questions ;  he  spoke  about 
England ;  inquired  into  the  particulars  of  Ber- 
nard's earlier  years  and  his  subsequent  travels, 
and  in  fact  contrived,  with  great  ingenuity, 
to  extract  a  tolerably  accurate  account  of  the 
career  of  both  the  young  men.  Bernard,  it 
is  true,  answered  with  the  greatest  circum- 
spection, but  it  was  not  possible  to  conceal 
everything,  and  the  Count  was  soon  so  well 
informed  of  Louis'  person:d  history,  that  he 
could  not  doubt  but  tiiat  Bernard  was  the 
brother  of  Feodorowna,  if  indeed  one  of 
them  stood  so  related  at  all.  He  scrutinised 
Bernard's  features  with  a  view  to  confirm  or 
invalidate  the  truth  of  this  supposition.  But 
here  the  Count  was  at  fault.  It  happened 
that  Bernard  resembled  mainly  liis  father,  and 
Bianca  her  mother — between  them  there  ex- 
isted rather  a  contrast  than  a  natural  resem- 
blance, and  yet  there  were  still  some  peculiar 
and  half-concealed  outlines.  Louis'  features, 
on  the  other  hand,  presented  fir  gi-eater  pro- 
bability of  relationship.  Bernard  suspected 
Dolgorow's  design,  and  ingeniously  contrived 
to  introduce  an  accidental  allusion  to  his 
birth  in  Dresden,  alleging  himself  to  Ik;  the 
son  of  a  poor  chorister  in  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  who  died  some  three  years  before, 
and  by  his  last  will  left  to  his  son  the  freedom 
of  pushing  his  way  in  the  world,  and  roaming 
whithersoever  he  i)leased. 

Dolgorow  remained  indeed  in  a  perplexing 
state  of  doubt  as  to  v.hether  or  not  liis  secret 
was  detected — whether  or  not  some  am- 
biguous circumstance,  some  half-understood 
words,  some  exaggerated  trifle,  had  not  pre- 
sented to  the  jealous  eye  of  suspicion  the  ap- 
pearance of  discovery.  That  he  might  not  ex- 
cite attention  by  protracted  or  anxious  inqui- 
ries, he  proposed  to  his  guests  a  trial  of  skill 


946 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


on  the  chess-board.  Louis  excused  himself  as 
but  little  acquainted  with  the  game,  but  Ber- 
nard accepted  the  proposal  apparently  with 
great  readiness.  A  servant  soon  set  the  board 
before  them,  and  they  sat  down  to  play. 
Louis  remained  in  the  room,  a  silent  spectjitor 
of  tiie  contest. 

•'  I  have  a  powerful  antagonist,"  remarked 
the  Count  after  a  few  moves.  "  It  will  give 
me  some  trouble  to  defend  myself." 

"  Your  judgment,  Count  Dolgorow,  proves 
your  superiority,"  Bernard  answered  politely. 
Tliey  continued  playing  for  some  time, 
and  seemed  to  participate  deeply  in  the  inte- 
rest of  the  game,  although  in  truth  the  minds 
of  both  the  players  were  secretly  intent  on 
fir  other  and  more  importiuit  objects.  Ber- 
nard possessed  that  degree  of  self-command 
wiiich  enabled  him  to  pay  attention  to  the 
game,  and  he  did  not  suffer  himself  to  betray, 
by  any  indiscretion  or  neglect,  his  indifference 
to  tlie  lienors  of  victory. 

Thus  passed  the  hours  of  the  forenoon ; 
the  dinner  hour  was  approaching.    The  Coun- 
tess as  well  as  Bianca  were  expected  to  ap- 
pear at  table.      When  the   Count,  in  the 
morning,  had  visited  his  daughter,  he  had 
remarked  that  attendance  at  dinner  was  a 
domestic  duty  which  could  not  be  neglected, 
but  that  yesterday  it  was  necessarily  inter- 
rupted by  the  indisposition  of  the  Countess. 
In  spite  of  Dolgorow's  ingenuity  in  governing 
his  words  and  actions,  and  assuming  every 
variety  of  address,  Bianca  knew  him   well. 
Slie  was  well  acquainted  with  his  career  in 
diplomacy,  and  did  not,  therefore,  allow  her- 
self to  be  deceived  by  his  apparently  unas- 
suming demeanor.     But  when  he  made  the 
attempt  to  pass  through  the  door  that  formed 
the  proper  egi-ess  from  lier  room,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  surprised  that  it  was  locked,  she 
obtiiined  the   fullest  certainty  that  he  was 
enacting  a  part ;  especially  as  he,  at  the  same . 
time,  and  with  a  certain  zeal  which  an  in- 
difii'reut  circumstance  would  not  have  called 
forth,  ordered  Jeannette  to  ask  his  valet  if 
he  had  the  key,  and  to  take  care  that  the  door 
was  quickly  opened.     In  the  meantime  he 
retired  through   the   Countess's   room,   and 
soon  after  tlie   lock  shot  back  in  the  door. 
But  Bianca  knew  but  too  well  that  she  had 
not  by  this  acquired  her  real  liberty,  but  only 
the  appearance  of  it ;  and  that  now  her  every 
movement  would  be  watched  the  more  nar- 
rowly.    Nevertheless  flight  did  not  appear  to 
her  to  be  utterly  impossible.     Her  feelings, 
therefore,  were  more  in    need   of  consola- 
tion than  her  reason  of  support.     She  nmst 
break    through   old    and    sacred    ties,  and 
assume  others  of  a  character  far  more  en- 
dearing;  and  she  must  leave  parents,  and 
country,  and  a  splendid  name,  and  enter  on 
an  entirely  new  world.    Although  fully  de- 


termined to  do  her  duty  in  this  matter,  yet  in 
the  very  hour  of  performance  she  could  not 
but  feel  the  numberless  ties  which  the  cus- 
toms of  life  entwine  around  us,  and  whose 
powers  to  bind  us  we  are  not  sensible  of, 
until  on  the  point  of  breaking  through  theta 
for  ever.  In  her  extremity,  she  wrote  a  letter 
to  Gregorius,  her  paternal  friend  and  adviser 
— the  depository  of  her  secret — entreating  him 
urgently,  so  soon  as  it  should  be  possible,  to 
come  to  the  castle ;  but  she  was  cairtious 
enough  not  to  explain  to  him  the  motive  of 
her  prayer.  Williiofen  engaged  to  despatch 
the  letter  by  a  sure  messenger,  and  intimated 
an  hour  afterwards  that  he  had  succeeded. 

Now  her  heart  felt  itself  wonderfully  re- 
lieved ;  her  confidence  in  the  dear  old  teacher 
was  unbounded ;  she  felt  that  his  presence 
would  afford  her  protection  and  consolation  ; 
for  it  was  his  duty  to  offer  her  both,  and 
where  his  duty  pointed,  she  knew  that  his 
courage  was  not  to  be  shaken. 

She  accompanied  her  mother  to  the  dining- 
room.  Here  she  again  saw  Louis  and  Ber- 
nard after  a  separation  so  painful  to  her 
feelings.  Her  heart  palpitated  with  unusual 
vehemence ;  yet,  with  great  exertioti,  she  so 
far  commanded  her  feelings  as  not  to  incur 
any  great  peril.  She  had  always  been  re- 
markable for  liberality  and  benevolence,  and 
her  established  character,  therefore,  protected 
her  from  remark  on  account  of  her  behavior 
to  her  guests.  Thus  she  continued  to  pass 
the  hours  of  dinner  without  incurring  any 
new  suspicion  of  her  connexion  with  the 
visitors.  Bernard  himself  so  managed  the 
thread  of  the  conversation  as  to  lead  it  to  the 
subject  of  travels,  and  of  his/)wn  in  particu- 
lar, and  of  England  and  the  fine  arts ;  and 
he  contrived  also  to  lead  Louis  into  these 
general  subjects,  wherein,  with  great  good 
sense,  he  acquitted  himself  to  admiration. 
All  this  proved  a  great  relief  to  Bianca.  Even 
Dolgorow  himself  was  shaken,  and  enter- 
tained the  hope  that  all  his  apprehensions  had 
no  firmer  basis  than  accident  or  miscon- 
struction. 

At  length  they  rose  from  the  table,  and  the 
ladies  prepared  to  retire.  Bianca  seized  a 
moment  when  she  believed  herself  unnoticed, 
and  whispered  to  Bernard  the  words : 

"  Be  confident — I  hope  for  a  fortunate 
change." 

But  Dolgorow,  who  at  that  moment  was 
reading  letters  brought  in  by  James,  chanced 
accidentally  to  be  looking  over  the  paper 
near  a  mirror,  in  which  he  saw  the  entire 
persons  of  Bernard  and  Bianca.  He  noticed 
their  familiar  approach,  remarked  their  whis- 
pering and  emotion.  It  is  true  he  had  not 
heard  a  syllable,  but  in  the  conduct  of  both 
he  perceived  the  confirmation  of  a  suspected 
confidence,  which  could    be  justified  only 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


247 


by  be  nearest  relationship ;  and  he  was  the 
more  impressed  wlien  both — the  door  being 
unexpectedly  opened — suddenly  changed  the 
expression  of  their  countenances,  and  as- 
sumed again  the  formal  bearing  of  ordinary 
courtesy. 

In  fact,  what  really  had  occurred,  never 
could  have  taken  place  between  the  Princess 
Ochalskoi  and  a  stranger  without  name  or 
rank.  Dolgorow  therefore  was  suddenly  put 
in  possession  of  irrefutable  proof  of  what 
had  heretofore  amounted  only  to  suspicion. 
He  was  so  much  tiirown  off  his  guard  as  to  ^ 
be  betrayed  into  the  exhibition  of  an  impa- 
tient gesture  and  a  half-suppressed  exclama- 
tion of  anger ;  and  the  consciousness  of  having 
betrayed  this  weakness  after  the  circumspec- 
tion he  had  hitherto  observed,  and  his  recent 
inclination  to  abandon  his  suspicions,  only 
irritated-  him  the  more.  But  as  rapidly  as 
he  had  lost  his  balance  he  regained  itagain, 
repeating,  for  appearances'  sake,  the  exclama- 
tion, and  vehemently  stamping  on  the  ground, 
and  referring  his  excitement  to  the  informs^ 
tion  he  had  received  in  the  letters  he  was 
reading. 

"  It  is  unheard  of — unpardonable !"  he  ex- 
claimed, fiercely  crushing  the  letter  in  his 
hand.  "  Such  proceedings  are  enough  to  drive 
a  man  crazy !" 

Even  Bernard   was  hoodwinked  by  this 

{)retext,  not  suspecting  that  his  own  secret 
lad  that  moment  been  discovered  by  the 
Count.  Dexterously  availing  himself  of  this 
explosion  of  the  Count's  wrath,  he  addressed 
him  in  a  tone  of  respectful  sympathy : 

"  I  apprehend  with  regret,  Count  Dolgorow, 
that  you  hjfve  received  some  unpalatable 
intelligence." 

"  IIow  can  it  be  otherwise  ?"  replied  Dol- 
gorow, "  ever  new  excuses  for  inveterate 
errors !  It  is  all  one  system  of  perversion  ; 
absurd  changes ;  propositions  and  orders  per- 
petually at  variance  with  each  other,  and  de- 
stroying alike  confidence  and  co-operation  I 
There  is  no  end  of  vexation  to  the  soldier 
and  the  patriot  I  Pardon  me,  my  friends, 
but  I  must  retire  for  a  time,  that  my  indigna- 
tion may  exhaust  itself  without  offence  to 
others." 

Saying  this,  he  bowed  and  left  the  room', 
and  at  the  same  time  the  ladies  also  took 
their  departure.  ♦ 

Scarcely  had  Dolgorow  entered  his  room, 
when  he  rang  the  bell  for  his  man,  designing 
to  question  him  yet  once  more  about  all  he 
had  actually  seen  and  heard. 

James  aptly  perceiving  how  important 
this  matter  was  to  his  master,  thought  it 
prudent  to  be  silent ;  partly  because  he  did 
not  choose  to  divide  the  discovery  with  any 
other  party,  and  partly  to  retain  himself  in 
good  repute  with  Jeannette ;  for,  to  have  rela- 


ted all  he  knew,  would  necessarily  have  in- 
volved her  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  the 
more  important  particulars.  He  therefore 
answered  the  Count's  questions  very  unsa- 
tisfactorily. The  Count  at  length  dismissed 
him,  and  remained  in  meditation.  A  sudden 
light  seemed  to  beam  upon  him.  "  Fool 
that  I  am,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  could  I  be 
so  stupid  as  not  to  think  of  it  before  !"  Either 
the  one  or  the  other  of  them  must  have 
some  letters  or  documents,  or  other  means 
of  recognition,  otherwise  it  is  impossible  that 
they  could  have  become  known  to  each 
other.  This  will  prove  a  source  of  correct 
information.  To  commence,  then,  let  us 
see  what  we  can  find  by  examining  Feodo- 
rowna's  apartment. 

He  rang  the  bell.     James  answered  it. 

"  Is  the  Princess  in  her  room  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  Her  ladyship  is  with  your  gra- 
cious Countess." 

"  All  right  !     You  can  go." 

So  soon  as  the  servant  had  departed,  Dol- 
gorow lighted  a  small  dark  lantern,  con- 
cealed it  under  his  cloak,  and  hastened  to 
Bianca's  room.  He  succeeded  in  entering 
unnoticed.  Instantly  bolting  the  door,  he 
commeneed  the  examination.  He  had  taken 
with  him  some  master-keys,  against, which 
scarce  any  lock  stood  proof.  Thp>.-e  keya 
were  a  part  of  his  implements  as  a  diploma- 
tist, wherewith  he  was  enabled  in  security 
to  possess  himself  of  the  contents  of  letters 
not  intended  for  his  eye  indeed,  but  of  im- 
portance to  his  interests  or  design*.  With 
the  help  of  these  instruments  he  succeeded 
very  soon  in  opening  Bianca's  writing-table. 
After  a  brief  search  he  found  among  her  pa- 
pers that  of  Rushka,  lying  uppermost,  hav- 
ing been  returned  to  her  hands  only  but  a 
short  time  before.  This  removed  all  doubts, 
saying  nothing  of  the  additional  evidence  he 
obtained  from  the  pocket-book  in  which  he 
f  )und  the  portraits  of  the  parents.  The  re- 
semblance of  these  portraits  to  the  children 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  needed  no  te- 
dious unravelling  or  lengthened  inquiry  to 
attain  this  truth — thai  Bernard  was  the  long- 
Io-:t  and  recently-found  brother.  He  care- 
fully replaced  every  thing  in  its  proper  place, 
unlocked  the  door,  and  hastily  returned  to 
his  room.  His  ingeniiity  was  now  taxed  for 
the  design  best  suited  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
stroying; at  once  the  nascent  mischief.  Nor 
was  he  long  in  coming  to  a  conclusion.  In 
the  first,  place,  Feodorowna's  silence  must 
be  enforced  by  menace  denounced  against 
the  dearest  objects  of  her  love.  This  was 
not  a  difficult  task  for  this  unscrupulous 
man :  but  it  so  happened  that  there  were  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  its  practical  accom- 
plishment. He  determined,  indeed,  that  Ber- 
nard and  Louis  must  partake  of  the  fate  of 


r948 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ,  OR, 


the  Frenchmen  now  prisoners  in  the  castle. 
Their  lives  were  then  dependent  on  Feodo- 
rowna's  consent  to  swear  upon  the  host, 
never  to  betray  his  secret.  But  to  effect  all 
this,  there  was  required  a  stronger  body  of 
men  than  was  now  at  his  disposal  in  the 
castle.  Except  the  servants,  of  whom  the 
greater  number  were  serfs  of  Feodorowna, 
and  on  whom  Dol^orow  could  not  rely  in 
case  of  extremity,  there  was  not  an  efficient 
number  at  his  disposal.  Bernard  and  Louis 
alone  could  make  such  a  resistance,  that 
probably  they  would  perish  in  the  conflict, 
and  then  the  security  for  the  secret  was  lost. 
Dolgorow  was  unprepared  for  any  attempt 
endangering  the  life  of  the  Princess,  partly 
because  lie  knew  that  her  serfs  would  regard 
such  a  deed  with  utter  abhorrence,  and 
would  probably  avenge  it, — partly  because 
he  foresaw  that  the  Countess  would  never 
give  her  consent  to  so  base  a  deed,  and  above 
all,  because  he  himself  fell  that  such  an  act 
would  exceed  even  his  own  measure  of 
wickedness.  Even  the  worst  of  men  can 
imagine  something  beyond  the  reach  of  their 
own  vicious  will,  and  hesitate  to  transcend 
the  imaginary  barrier. 

The  deepest  abyss  of  crime  is  not  utterly 
unfathomable — a  point  may  be  reached  where 
the  hand  of  man  can  be  stopped  in  its  course. 
There  is  no  reasonable  being  so  utterly  prof- 
ligate as  not  to  be  capable  of  acknowledging 
a  limit,  however  remote,  to  his  vileness,  be- 
yond which  he  trembles  to  penetrate ;  and 
would  rather  lose  the  reward  of  his  criminal 
efforts,  than  incur  the  imaginary  guilt  of 
transgressing  its  pale.  The  moral  govern- 
ment of  Providence  is  manifest  herein.  For 
that  power  alone  can  set  bounds  to  the  imma- 
terial thoui^hts  of  man,  and  by  their  opera- 
tion control  the  direction  and  check  the  ex- 
travagance of  his  evil  propensities. 

Dolgorow  decided  upon  his  plan.  He  re- 
solved to  concentrate  a  sufficient  body  of 
men  in  the  neia^hborhood  of  the  castle  as  a 
security  against  ^11  resistance.  Then  Louis 
and  Bernard  were -to  be  invited  to  come 
abroad,  and  unexpectedly  seized,  gagged  and 
carried  away.  When  they  should  have  pen- 
etrated some  distance  into  the  forest,  Dolgo- 
row purposed  to  tell  them  that  their  fate  and 
that  of  Feodorowna  depended  on  the  preser- 
vation of  his  secret ;  and  With  this  warning 
they  were  ta  be  despatched  with  the  other 
prisoners  to  the  interior  of  the  country.  Only 
when  all  this  was  effectually  accomplished, 
was  Feodorowna  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  matter,  and  then  it  would  be  easy 
to  extort  from  her  the  promise  of  secrecy  by 
threatening  the  lives  of  the  prisoners. 

Willhofen  was  suspected  by  Dolgorow  as 
an  accomplice.  He  resolved  therefore  upon 
getting  rid  of  him  also,  by  selecting  him  as 


the  messenger  to  carry  orders  for  the  ad* 
vance  of  troops  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
castle,  and  at  the  same  time  convey  to  the 
person  who  held  the  command  of  the  pea- 
santry a  sealed  note  not  to  allow  Willhofen 
to  return  to  the  castle,  but  to  occupy  him 
otherwise  until  further  instructions. 

This  well-matured  scheme  was  put  into 
instant  execution.  He  wrote  the  order, 
sealed  it,  rang  the  bell,  and  desired  James  to 
summon  Willhofen  to  his  presence. 

"  Here  is  an  important  despatch,  Sola- 
now,"  he  addressed  him.  "  You  must  in- 
stantly get  to  horse,  and  depart  with  speed. 
I  hold  you  responsible  for  its  being  delivered 
within  three  hours  at  farthest." 

The  old  man  bowed  in  silence,  took  the 
packet  and  went  away. 

Now  Dolgorow  had  time  to  reflect.  The 
danger  seemed  averted,  the  threatening  cloud 
dispersed.  He  could  no!:  anticipate  that  his 
plan  was  already  forestalled  before  the  com- 
mencement of  its  execution. 


CHAPTER  Lxxvnr. 

BiANCA  knew  well  that  she  was  betrayed, 
and  the  manner  of  it.  Jeannette  had  been 
sitting  at  work  in  the  Princess'  room.  When 
the  light  began  to  fail  her,  she  had  moved 
into  a  large  arm-chair  in  the  embrasure  of 
the  window,  which  was  very  deep  in  the 
thick  wails  of  the  castle.  There  she  worked 
as  long  as  she  could  see.  Ib  the  twilight 
she  ceased,  and  after  sitting  idle  for  some 
time,  fell  asleep.  Suddenly  she  was  awak- 
ened by  a  noise,  and,  raising  her  head,  she 
saw  a  strange  light  in  the  room,  and  detected 
with  astonishment  the  Count,  standing  be- 
fore the  opened  writing-table  of  the  Princess. 
Involuntarily  the  witness  of  this  action,  she 
feared  to  betray  herself;  the  great  silk  cur- 
tains so  covered  the  window,  that  she  could 
not  easily  be  perceived.  She  therefore  re- 
solved not  to  stir,  and  to  pretend  to  be  asleep. 
Yet  she  distinctly  observed  all  that  Dolgo- 
row was  about.  She  noticed  that  he  de 
parted  with  great  circumspection,  noiselessly 
opening  and  closing  the  doors.  These  cir- 
cumstances convinced  the  girl  that  there  was 
some  secret  plot  in  hand  involving  the  Prin- 
cess, whose  late  unhappy  disagreement  with 
her  parents  had  been  all  along  known  to  her. 
She  connected  these  circumstances  with 
what  she  had  overheard  at  the  door  and  had 
confided  to  James.  She  apprehended  that  she 
had  endangered  the  happiness  of  her  mistress 
by  her  imprudence.  Her  conscience  smote 
her,  and  she  at  once  determined  to  acquaint 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


her  with  all  she  had  seen  and  heard.  With 
this  good  design,  she  was  on  the  point  of 
hastening  to  the  presence  of  the  Princess, 
when  the  latter  unexpectedly  entered  the 
room.  Jeannette  soon  related  her  story  and 
and  all  that  had  happened.  Bianca  had  no 
diflSculty  in  at  once  comprehending  the 
whole  matter ;  she  saw  that  she  was  entirely 
betrayed,  and  that  there  was  no  time  to  be 
lost.  Instantly  she  resolved  upon  speaking 
with  her  brother.  Jeannette  was  directed  to 
lock  the  door,  and  particularly  instructed 
should  any  person  require  admittance  into 
the  room,  to  answer  that  the  Princess  was 
dressing,  and  that  no  one  could  then  be  per- 
mitted to  enter.  Bianca  covered  her  head 
with  the  dress  usually  worn  b)'  her  maid- 
servant, and  favored  by  the  darkness  of  the 
corridor,  hurried  away  to  the  quarter  of  the 
castle  in  which  were  the  apartments  of  Louis 
and  Bernard,  and  having  entered  their  room, 
soon  made  them  acquainted  with  all  the  par- 
ticulars. Flight  was  resolved  on  that  same 
night.  Gregorius  she  knew  would  wil- 1 
lingly  receive  her,  if  they  could  but  succeed 
in  reaching  his  dwelling  before  he  should 
himself  have  commenced  his  journey  hither 
in  obedience  to  her  late  invitation.  Should 
this  resource  fail  them,  they  (fetermined  to 
hazard  every  peril  and  endeavor  to  reach 
Smolensko,  filled  although  it  was  with  the 
refuse  of  the  Grand  Army,  and  scarce  worthy 
the  name  of  a  place  of  refuge. 

Willhofen,  it  was  determined  should  be 
the  companion  of  their  flight.  He  was  in- 
structed as  to  their  designs,  and  promised  to 
keep  horses  and  a  sleigh  in  readiness.  For 
the  making  of  these  necessary  preparations 
he  had  but  just  left  the  room,  when  James 
met  him,  and  summoned  him  to  the  Count. 
In  anticipation  of  the  cause  of  this  sudden 
summons,  he  entered  the  apartment,  preserv- 
ing his  undisturbed  presence  of  mind  and 
his  accustomed  serenity  of  features.  Be- 
traying no  suspicion,  Dolgorow  presented 
him  with  the  despatches,  which  Wilhofen 
immediately  carried  over  to  Bernard's  room, 
where  Bianca  was  still  remaining.  The  let- 
ter was  opened  and  Bianca  read  it,  for  jt  was 
written  in  Russian.  Dolgorow's  plan  was 
in  a  moment  laid  bare  to  them. 

The  necessity  of  flight  was  now  as  appa- 
rent as  urgent.  No  time  was  to  be  lost — 
this  very  hour  they  must  betake  themselves 
to  flight.  While  Willhofen  prepared  the 
sleigh  and  horses,  under  pretext  of  getting 
ready  to  carry  his  master's  despatches,  Bi- 
anca returned  to  her  room  and  made  hasty 
provision  for  her  journey.  She  could  no 
longer  avoid  making  Jeannette  acquainted 
with  her  design.  The  girl  was  unwilling  to 
leave  her  mistress,  and  in  tears  entreated  to 
be  permitted  to  share  the  fortunes  of  her 


mistress.  Bianca  was  compelled  to  consent, 
inasmuch  as  she  justly  dreaded  Dolgorow's 
indignation,  upon  discovering  the  girl's  par- 
ticipation in  the  betrayal  of  his  designs. 
The  poor  girl  therefore  was  soon  deeply  en- 
gaged in  making  up  her  wardrobe,  while 
Bianca  occupied  herself  in  collecting  her 
money,  jewels,  papers  and  many  other  valua- 
ble matters,  all  of  which  were  readily  enclosed 
in  a  case,  easily  carried,  and,  if  necessary, 
concealed.  Bernard  and  Louis  had  in  the 
meantime,  by  Willhofen's  admonition,  provi- 
ded themselves  with  pistols  belonging  to  the 
household.  Louis  went  down  in  the  yard, 
with  the  design  of  following  Willhofen  out 
of  the  yard,  with  the  sleigh,  as  soon  as 
he  left  it  on  horseback.  Bernard  remain- 
ed to  conduct  and  protect  his  sister.  A  sig- 
nal was  to  be  given  from  the  window  to  the 
parties  in  the  yard,  indicating  that  the  Prin- 
cess and  her  maid  were  ready. 

The  nature  of  the  suspense  in  which  Louis 
stood  looking  up  to  Bianca's  window,  can  be 
better  imagined  than  depicted.  The  imminent 
danger  of  delay,  the  possibility  of  being  be- 
trayed, the  peril  of  being  plunged  into  the 
direst  misfortunes,  contrasted  with  the  bril- 
liant dreams  of  prospective  happiness,  con- 
verted this  suspense  into  torture,  and  pro- 
longed each  successive  second  into  an  hour  of 
agony.  At  length  Bernard  stepped  with  a 
light  to  the  window,  and  there  suddenly  ex- 
tinguished it.  That  was  the  signal  agreed 
upon.  Willhofen  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
quickly  towards  the  gate,  which  he  ordered  to 
be  opened.  Louis  followed  him  with  the 
sleigh ;  under  the  gateway  and  near  the  great 
steps,  according  to  agreement,  he  was  to  await 
the  descent  of  Bianca  and  Bernard,  and  then, 
as  rapidly  as  the  horses  could  fly,  to  follow 
Willhofen,  who  galloped  on  in  advance.  That 
they  might  not  be  instantly  pursued, Willhofen 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  collect  all  the 
bridles  into  one  bundle,  and  had  thrown  them 
over  a  ruined  part  of  the  wall  into  the  ditch 
of  the  castle  ;  which,  it  is  true,  was  frozen, 
but  where  nobody  would  think  of  looking  for 
such  articles.  They  therefore  entertained  a 
reasonable  expectation  that  before  dawn  it 
would  be  difficult  to  pursue  them.  Darkness 
favored  the  undertaking.  With  great  care,  so 
that  no  one  might  hear  the  tramping  of  the 
horses  upon  the  snow,  Louis  brought  the 
sleigh  to  the  gateway.  Willhofen  was 
already  outside,  remaining  on  the  bridge.  By 
the  obscure  glimmer  of  the  lamp  that  hung 
in  the  vaulted  arch-way,  Louis  saw  three 
forms  upon  the  upper  steps  of  the  stair- 
case. 

"  Is  it  thou  Bernard  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  Here  we  are,"  was  the  answer,  and  at 
the  same  instant  Bianca  approached  to  enter 
the  sleigh, 


tso 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR 


Bat  at  this  moment  was  heard  Dolgorow's 
fearful  shout : 

"  Treachery  !    Ho  !  there — awake  !    Shut 

the  gate — seize  the  traitors !"  he  cried.    At 

the  same  instant  a  drawn  sword  flashed  above 

Bernard's  head,  and,  under  the  suddenness  of 

,  the  blow,  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

Bianca  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  in  fall- 
ing, struck  Dolgorow's  arm,  which  was  about 
to  deal  a  second  and  a  heavier  stroke. 

"  For  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  spare  him ! — 
he  is  my  brother !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
calculated  to  pierce  the  stoutest  heart. 

Louis  was  astounded ;  but,  quickly  recover- 
ing himself,  he  jumped  frofai  the  sleigh,  tore 
the  pistol  out  of  his  girdle,  and  discharged  it 
at  Dolgorow.  The  ball  penetrated  the  shoul- 
der, and  he  tottered  backward. 

"  Fly,  unhappy  lady  ! — fly  !"  exclaimed 
Louis,  and  would  have  embraced  Bianca ;  but 
already,  three  servants,  who  had  been  dozing 
in  the  guard-room,  near  the  gate,  hastened  to 
the  scene,  and  seizing  him  beliind,  threw  him 
to  the  ground. 

"Seize  the  traitors  I — ^bind  them  !"  exclaimed 
Dolgorow  furiously,  and  the  servants,  mo- 
mentarily increasing  their  numbers,  soon  over- 
powered the  unfortunate  and  unaided  young 
man.  Dolgorow  himself  grasped  Bianca,  lift- 
ed her  up  by  force,  and  bore  her  away,  as  she 
struggled,  up  the  stairs,  into  the  hall  of  the 
castle.  Her  strength  failed  her,  under  her 
terrible  misfortune,  and  all  resistance  was 
soon  at  an  end,  as  indeed  it  was  vain. 

Jeannette  followed  her  mistress.  The  ser- 
vants, without  waiting  for  further  instructions, 
dragged  the  unconscious  Bernard  along  with 
them,  and  followed  the  retreating  steps  of  the 
Count. 

In  the  upper  corridor  the  Countess  met 
them,  having  been  alarmed  by  the  discharge 
of  fire-arms  and  the  general  tumult,  without 
knowing  the  cause. 

"  Take  your  daughter  to  your  apartment. 
Countess  !"  exclaimed  Dolgorow.  "The 
honor  of  our  house  is  in  the  greatest  jeo- 
pardy !" 

"  I  am  not  your  daughter !"  exclaimed  Feo- 
dorowna,  whose  consciousness  had  returned. 
"I  no  longer  acknowledge  your  rights.  You 
have  murdered  my  brother !" 

With  great  energy  she  wrenched  herself 
from  the  arms  of  the  Count,  and  hastened 
back  to  meet  the  servants,  who  were  dragging 
along  Bernard  and  Louis. 

"  You  are  my  vassals,"  she  addressed  them, 
in  a  tone  of  excited  despair :  "  I  command  you 
to  release  these  unfortunate  men,  and  to  lend 
immediate  aid  to  the  wounded !" 

Dolgorow  had  hastened  after  her. 

"Whoever  neglects  to  obey  my  commands," 
he  exclaimed,  with  his  sword  raised  on  high, 
and  in  a  voice  of  thunder, "  I  will  cleave  his 


traitorous  skull!     Who  dares  dispute  my 
orders,  or  brave  my  vengeance  ?" 

The  serfs  of  the  Princess  stood  irresolute, 
wavering  between  fear  and  the  impulse  of 
conscious  duty ;  but,  two  of  Dolgorow's  own 
men  bowed  humbly  before  him,  saying  : 

"  Our  master  has  only  to  command  us,  and 
we-  shall  know  what  to  do." 

"  I  have  told  you  already,"  cried  Dolgorow, 
in  towering  wrath.  "  Bind  these  dogs,  and 
cast  them  into  the  deepest  vault  of  the  castle !" 

"  No — it  shall  not  be  ! — it  is  impossible  !" 
Bianca  exclaimed,  clasping  her  brother  within 
her  arms,  and  pressing  his  blood-stained  head 
to  her  breast.  "  I  do  not  leave  thee,  my  bro- 
ther ! — if  thou  diest,  thou  diest  in  my  arms !" 

Struck  with  respect  for  her  sorrows,  even 
the  rough  serfs  retreated,  seeming  to  feel  a 
higher  duty  than  that  of  a  slavish  obedience. 

Dolgorow  stamped  with  his  foot,  and  cursed 
them  in  his  anger. 

"  Throw  her  dovra  also,  if  she  will  not 
leave  him !"  he  fiercely  exclaimed,  stepping 
himself  towards  his  unhappy  victim,  for  the 
purpose  of  tearing  her  from  the  body  of  her 
brother. 

Louis'  feelings  were  tortured  with  ineffable 
pangs  at  sight  of  this  brutal  enormity.  Un- 
der this  emotion,  he  forced  himself  upright 
amid  the  ignorant  slaves  who  held  him,  and, 
in  the  dignity  of  his  virtuous  indignation, 
addressed  the  savage  noble  before  him  : 

"  Hold  thine  hand.  Count !  Dost  thou  not 
fear  the  retribution  of  Heaven?  The  Great 
Judge  sees  all,  and. from  his  justice  thou  canst 
not  escape !" 

Dolgorow  turned  himself  proudly  round.  He 
was  struck,  for  even  he  felt  the  promptings  of 
the  monitor  within.  Yet,  his  long-continued 
hardness  of  heart  struggled  against  the  emo- 
tion, as  against  a  cowardly  fear,  and  he  en- 
deavored to  conceal  his  weakness  behind  tho 
veil  of  redoubled  insolence.  A  smile  of 
scorn  was  on  the  lips  that  replied  : 

"  It  shall  be  mine  to  show  you  that  you 
will  find  it  still  more  difficult  to  escape  7ny 
wrath  and  my  justice  !" 

At  this  moment  was  suddenly  heard  a 
strange  hollow  noise,  succeeded  by  a  loud 
clamor  of  confused  voices. 

The  attention  of  all  was  an-ested.  They 
heard  the  noise  approaching. 

"  What's  the  matter  there  ?"  exclaimed  Dol- 
gorow. "  Go  down,  one  of  you,  and  see  what 
is  the  cause  of  this  tumult." 

One  of  his  men  was  in  the  act  of  obeying 
these  instructions,  when  louder  and  more  dis- 
tinct noises  were  heard,  as  of  a  body  of  men 
forcing  their  Way  up  the  stairs.  The  vaulted 
roof  reflected  a  strong  light  from  below,  and 
clearly  indicated  the  approach  of  people  with 
torches. 

Dolgorow,  in  evident  alarm,  hastened  to- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


351 


wards  the  stairs.  The  cry  and  tumult  of  those 
forcing  their  way  up  increased  every  moment. 

"  Here !  here  !"  exclaimed  a  strong  voice, 
*  follow  me !" 

Louis  recognised  Willhofen's  voice.  In  an 
instant,  a  bright  hope  that  this  faithful  man 
ivould  bring  succor,  arose  within  him.  This 
hope  received  its  confirmation  in  the  echo  of 
a  shot,  immediately  succeeded  by  a  second 
discharge,  and  a  furious  outburst  of  human 
voices. 

Dolgorow,against  whose  person  these  shots 
had  been  firpd,  made  a  speedy  retreat.  He 
held  his  hand  to  his  side,  where  he  seemed  to 
have  been  wounded ;  but  he  continued  reso- 
lutely to  brandish  his  sword,  and  encourage 
his  men  to  resist  the  attack.  They  were  un- 
armed and  hesitated. 

"  Fight,  villains !  or  I  myself  will  cut  you 
down !"  Dolgorow  roared,  alike  against  his 
own  people  and  his  unknown  assailants. 
He  stormed  in  fury,  and  the  vaulted  hall  re- 
echoed with  his  indignant  epithets. 

The  frightened  slaves  relinquished  their 
hold  of  Louis  and  Bernard,  and  hastened  to 
their  master.  Suddenly,  a  strange  light  il- 
luminated the  whole  apartment,  and  Louis  at 
once  recognised  the  faithful  Willhofen,  who, 
with  a  sword  in  his  right  liand  and  a  blazing 
torch  in  his  left,  appeared  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs.  He  rushed  impetuously  forward,  fol- 
lowed by  a  crowd  of  people,  armed  with  poles 
and  implements  of  husbandry.  They  hesitii- 
ted  not  in  their  bold  advance,  and  unchecked, 
they  fell  furiously  upon  the  Count  and  his 
people.  Dolgorow's  men  were  unable  to  with- 
stand the  impetuous  assault — ^they  turned  and 
fled  along  the  corridor.  Dolgorow  would 
have  stood  firm,  but  he  was  carried  away  by 
the  flying  mass,  and  fell  to  the  ground.  The 
assailants  still  pressed  forward,  and,  before 
■  Louis  could  well  recover  from  his  surprise, 
Willhofen  seized  liis  hand,  and  triumphantly 
exclaimed, 

"  We  are  safe,  sir !" 

Louis,  in  the  excess  of  his  joy,  embraced 
the  old  man,  and  hailed  him  as  their  de- 
livere. 

Bianca  knelt  on  the  ground ;  the  head  of 
her  wounded  brother  lay  in  her  lap.  Slie 
spread  her  hands  over  his  pale  and  blood- 
btained  face ; — iier  trembling  lips  were  not 
able  to  utter  a  word,  yet,  in  her  uphfted  eye 
glowed  a  flame  of  purest  gratitude  for  this 
merciful  interposition. 

"  Dear  brother !  only  once  again  open  thine 
eyes !"  she  murmured,  and  essayed  to  raise 
his  fallen  head.  His  consciousness  happily 
began  to  return;  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
lisped, 

"  Where  am  I T 

"  In  the  arms  of  thy  sister !"  Bianca  ex- 
claimed, with  re-awakened  joy. 


Louis  had  bent  down  beside  her,  to  assist 
her  in  raising  the  exhausted  patient.  He  care- 
fully wiped  away  the  blood  from  his  forehead, 
and  made  anxious  and  tender  inquiries  into 
the  nature  and  extent  of  the  wounds. 

"  I  feel  easy,"  said  Bernard,  "  but  exceed- 
ing weak  and  confused.  What  has  happened 
here  ? — where  are  we  ?" 

His  friend  and  his  sister  led  him  on  to  his 
apartment.  Here  Bianca  herself  washed  his 
wound,  and  secured  it  with  a  bandage.  Will- 
hofen also  now  entered,  and  Louis  pointed  to 
him,  exclaiming : 

"  This  is  our  preserver  ! — but  how  he  be- 
came so  he  has  not  yet  explained  to  us." 

"  I  scarce  know  myself,"  replied  Willhofen. 
"  I  remained  upon  the  bridge,  waiting  for  you, 
my  dear  sir,  when  I  suddenly  heard  a  loud 
cry,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  report  of 
a  pistol-shot.  Turning  in  that  direction,  I 
saw  the  people  rushing  out  of  the  guard- 
room towards  the  sleigh.  Now  I  knew  but 
too  well  what  was, the  matter.  Irresolute 
whether  to  fly  or  to  remain,  I  stood  a  silent 
spectator  of  the  tumult.  But,  when  the  men 
had  carried  all  up  stairs,  and  the  gateway  was 
clear,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  the 
French  prisoners  might  aid  us.  I  lost  no  time 
in  proceeding  to  the  yard.  The  man  who 
stood  on  guard  at  the  gate,  with  a  rusty  mus- 
ket, was  not  aware  of  an  attack.  To  jump 
from  my  horse,  to  throw  him  down,  to  snatch 
his  musket  out  of  his  hand,  and  put  it  out  of 
his  power  to  give  the  alarm,  was  the  work  of 
an  instant.  I  had  but  to  draw  back  the  bolts 
of  the  outer  door,  and  turn  the  key  in  the 
lock  of  the  inner,  and  the  prisoners  were  free. 
The  little  French  I  learned  in  my  youth  now 
stood  me  in  good  stead.  I  soon  made  them 
comprehend,  that  if  they  had  the  courage 
to  try,  they  might  effect  their  deliverance. 
There  was  no  necessity  to  repeat  the  propo- 
sal. They  followed  me  into  the  yard.  When 
I  had  them  in  the  open  air,  I  led  them  to  a 
heap  of  billet-wood,  that  lies  immediately  to 
the  right,  in  the  corner,  and  directed  them  to 
arm  and  follow  me  immediately  to  the  gate. 
Tn  the  meantime,  I  had  closed  the  outer  gate, 
so  that  the  fellows  might  not  prematurely 
make  their  escape  into  the  woods,  and  leave  us 
to  fight  our  own  battle.  I  tore  a  burning 
brand  out  of  the  stove  in  the  guard-room,  and 
others  followed  my  example.  I  led  the  way 
up  the  stairs,  and  with  a  wild  cry,  the  French- 
men were  close  at  my  back,  eager  for  the  fray, 
and — ^but  the  rest  you  know.  Now  we  are 
masters  of  the  castle ;  but  we  shall  do  wisely 
in  getting  away  from  it  this  very  hour; 
for,  no  man  knows  what  the  next  will  bring 
forth. 

"  Brave  old  maD  !"  exclaimed  Bernard, 
"  Thou  art  still  a  true  German,  even  amid 
the  deserts  of  Russia.    I  feel  new  life,  my 


253 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRfeD  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


friends ;  let  us  hasten  to  gain  the  open  air." 

"  The  horses  are  yet  harnessed,"  answered 
Willhofen  ;  "  we  can  instantly  depart.  But 
hark!  what  is  that?" 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  gate  with- 
out, accompanied  by  the  crack  of  a  whip, 
and  the  ringing  of  sleigh  bells.  This  inter- 
ruption caused  a  momentary  alarm. 

"Be  quiet — we  will  soon  see  what  it  is," 
said  Willholen ;  "  if  there  are  many  of  them, 
we  can  keep  them  out.  Against  a  few  we 
can  easily  maintain  our  position — for  our 
enemies  here  are  now  harmless."  With  this 
brief  remark,  he  went  out  to  observe  the 
new  visitor  from  one  of  the  front  windows. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  returned  with  a 
smile. 

"  There  is  no  danger,  gracious  lady,"  said 
he  ;  '•  it  is  Father  Gregorius !" 

"  Heaven  itself  has  sent  him  to  me  '."  ex- 
claimed Bianca.  "  Oh,  the  kind  old  man  ! 
setting  at  naught,  both  night  and  winter,  in 
his  zeal  to  comply  with  my  urgent  request. 
Open  the  gate — quick — no,  I  myself  will  go 
to  meet  him." 

She  hastened  down  so  rapidly  that  Will- 
hofen was  scarcely  able  to  follow  her.  After 
a  few  minutes  she  returned  by  the  side  of  the 
old  man,  to  whom  she  was  as  dearly  attached 
as  a  daughter  to  her  parent. 

"  See,  Father — here  he  is — it  is  my  brother!" 

Bernard  reverently  stood  up,  for  Grego- 
rius' facial  aspect  was  that  of  a  saint.  A 
blessed  calm  seemed  to  overspread  his  fea- 
tures ;  and  his  eye  was  bright  with  the  ray 
of  adoration  habitually  directed  to  the  Al- 
mighty. 

"  Thus,  wonderfully  does  He,  whose  ways 
are  inscrutable,  direct  us  in  our  paths  !"  said 
the  old  priest,  as  he  stood  before  them  :  "  thus 
does  He  fashion  the  destinies  of  men  on  in- 
visible threads  which  He  alone  is  able  to 
blend  or  disrupt.  Thou  hast  my  blessing,  my 
son,"  he  continued  approaching  Bernard,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  his  head  ;  "  and  may  that 
of  Heaven  rest  upon  thee.  Even  now  the 
Father  of  Mercies  is  with  thee — even  here 
where  his  ministers  of  wrath  are  pouring  out 
retributive  justice  upon  the  heads  of  our  in- 
vaders— even  herej  where  the  wilderness  of 
snow  and  the  sharp  arrow  of  the  icy  North 
wind,  are  preparing  destruction  for  myriads 
of  infidel  transgressors — here  has  He  pre- 
served to  thee  alone  th.s  tender  blossom, 
which  He  now  transfers  to  thy  care  and  pro- 
tection and  love.  Thou  earnest  with  the 
sword,  but  the  angel  of  the  Lord  hath  wrested 
it  from  thine  hand,  and  in  lieu  thereof  placed 
a  palm !" 

"  1  receive  it  with  all  reverence  and  grati- 
tude !"  answered  Bernard,  bending  in  hu- 
mility over  the  hand  of  the  priest. 

•*  Oh,  Father !"  said  Bianca,  in  a  tone  of 


supplication.  "  Thou  shonldst  be  the  peace- 
maker ;  thy  pious  words  should  cleanse  the 
heart  of  man  from  the  hatred  and  blood- 
thirstiness  that  stain  it.  It  is  mine  now, 
to  relinquish  the  older  ties  with  which  I  have 
hitherto  been  bound  to  this  family,  and  to 
folfow  a  holier  duty — to  obey  a  mightier 
power.  I  would  have  done  this  work  kindly 
and  gradually,  if  possible ;  but  enmity  has 
arisen,  and  peril  imposes  the  necessity  of 
haste.  Be  thou  the  mediator  between  me 
and  my  foster-parents;  I  do  not  deserve 
their  hatred,  but  even  an  unjust  curse  would 
pain  me  through  the  remainder  of  my  days. 
Wher6  is  my  father?  Where  is  my  mo- 
ther ?     I  wish  earnestly  to  see  them  !" 

"They  are  under  guard  in  the  saloon  I" 
answered  Willhofen. 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  them,"  said  Bianca, 
earnestly.  "  Brother,  wilt  thou  be  able  to 
accompany  me  ?  Louis,  wilt  thou  also  follow 
me  ?  Soften  your  hearts  for  a  work  of 
reconciliation  !" 

"  What  heart  can  resist  so  benevolent  a 
prayer  ?"  said  Louis.  "  The  most  obdurate 
resentment,  if  indeed  I  could  entertain  it, 
would  melt  like  snow  under  the  genial  breath 
of  spring." 

Bernard  seized  her  hand,  and  softly  press- 
ing it,  whispered : 

"  I  am  resolute  and  inflexible  by  nature  ; 
the  demon  of  evil  is  powerful  within  me. 
But,  sister,  one  hair  of  thy  silken  lashes  may 
lead  me  whithersoever  thou  wilt,  and  bind  me 
more  effectually  than  a  ten-linked  chain  of 
iron.     Let  us  go." 

In  the  saloon  they  found  Dolgorow.  His 
brow  was  clouded — he  was  pale  with  pas- 
sion and  bodily  pain.  The  Countess  sat  in 
an  arm-chair,  exhausted  and  in  tears. 

"  What  do  you  desire  ? — So  you  also  are 
one  of  the  conspirators,  Gregorius !  You, 
too,  have  apostatised  from  your  allegiance  to 
your  country  and  your  God  ?" 

The  old  man  heeded  not  the  insult  offered 
by  the  angry  Count,  but  kindly  approached 
him,  and  mildly  said  : 

"Lidulge  no  words  of  hatred  or  anger  in 
this  hour,  when  the  eternal  Disposer  of  hu- 
man affairs  is  looking  down  upon  you  with  an 
eye  of  stern  displeasure.  Utter  no  words  of 
enmity  now,  when  we  approach  you  with 
love  !  You  once  broke  and  cast  from  you  the 
holy  ties  of  our  nature;  but  the  eye  of  God 
was  not  asleep — and  he  has  again  brought 
those  together  who  should  never  have  been 
separated.  Do  not  harbor  resentment  against 
those  who  bear  no  guilt — compensate  for  a 
cruel  course  by  a  repentant  act.  She  who 
has  so  long  called  you  father  is  about  to  leave 
you — a  newer  and  holier  duty  calls  her  away 
— but  let  her  not  depart  without  a  reconcilia* 
tion  and  your  blessing !" 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Dolgorow  was  silent ;  he  moodily  turned 
away  his  head. 

"  Father !  mother !"  said  Bianca,  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice,  and  hesitating  to  approach  them : 
"  I  cannot  easily  forget  those  endeared 
names,  first  learned  from,  and  long  applied  to 
you.  I  suffered  much  indeed,  but  I  enjoyed 
much  also ;  therefore  can  I  never  forget  the 
sacred  claims  of  gratitude.  To  be  compelled 
to  leave  you  is  painful  enough,  but  here  1 
must  now^  have  been  always  a  stranger.  No 
custom — no  long  preserved  habits  of  life, 
eraW'  the  instincts  of  nature,  or  reconcile  us 
to  error.  Oh,  ray  parents  !  let  not  this  part- 
ing be  in  violence  or  anger.  Spare  me  and 
yourselves  agony,  which  we  can  escape  only 
by  wise  and  humble  submission !  Let  us 
separate  in  peace !" 

Bianca,  as  a  suppliant,  approached  the 
Countess,  and  seized  her  hand  which  hung 
motionless  by  her  side. 

"Have  I  ever  neglected  my  duty  as  a 
child  towards  you,  my  mother  ?  Even  the 
most  painful  sacrifice  I  could  offer  to  paren- 
tal authority,  was  offered  in  silence — a  silence 
the  more  impressive,  as  I  knew  that  such 
a  sacrifice  was  beyond  the  just  power  of 
parents  to  exact.  A  ruling  Providence  rid 
me  of  my  fetters  even  before  their  embrace 
could  insult  my  person.  Recognise  in  this 
the  merciful  dispensation  of  the  Almighty  ! 
Bow  to  His  will,  and  look  \yith  approval  upon 
what  you  can  no  longer  prevent  or  change. 
That,  at  least,  may  prove  some  compensation 
to  me  for  the  hours  of  unforgotten  misery 
I  endured  in  obedience  to  your  will,  when  I 
relinquished  all  my  hopes  of  life  !" 

The  Countess  turned  aside,  unmoved  by 
these  entreaties,  yet  unable  to  control  her 
tears.  Her  tears  were  for  herself. — Dolgo- 
row stood  apart,  cold  and  inflexible. 

Bianca  was  in  despair,  distressed  beyond 
measure. 

"  Oh,  Father  Gregorius  !"  said  she, "  let  but 
your  solemn  voice  be  once  lifted  up  in  serious 
exhortation — if  they  will  but  hear  the  voice 
of  man,  surely  thine  will  prevail.  Alas  ! 
they  will  not  hear  their  daughter !" 

The  old  man  approached  the  Countess, 
but  equally  addressed  both  her  and  Dolgo- 
row. 

"  Love  your  enemies ;  do  good  to  those 
that  hate  you — is  enjoined  on  man  in  Holy 
Writ — and  the  Lord  requires  obedience  at  our 
hands !"  began  the  aged  minister.  "  You 
have  but  to  fulfil  a  lesser  diity — to  recom- 
pense love  with  love — to  abstain  from  inflict- 
ing pain  where  there  is  no  demerit.  This  is 
a  law,  which  the  savage  observes  towards 
the  savage.  Look  forward  to  the  mercy  you 
will  yourself  require  in  your  last  hour — that 
hour,  sooner  or  later,  must  come ;  and  can 
you  say  that  it  is  not  even  now  at  hand.     I 


exhort  you  by  the  love  borne  to  all  of  us  by  the 
blessed  Redeemer ;  remember  his  mercies, 
and  be  yourself  merciful,  ere  you  perish  in 
the  hardness  of  your  heart !" 

"  Enough !"  exclaimed  Dolgorow,  furiously 
starting  forward.  "  You  have  become  an 
apostate  priest  and  counsellor  of  the  enemy ! 
What  want  you  now  from  me  ?  I  am  your 
prisoner.  Will  the  Princess  Ochalskoi,  a 
daughter  of  Russia,  suffer  the  Count  Dolgo- 
row, her  father,  the  defender  of  her  country, 
to  be  fettered  by  traitors  ?  She  has  succeeded 
in  her  designs — let  her  now  farther  deter- 
mine !" 

"  Merciful  heaven !  this  is  too  much !"  ex- 
claimed Bianca,  concealing  her  head  in  Gre- 
gorius' robe.  The  old  man  supported  her 
trembling  frame. 

"  Sister,  come,  or  I  shall  be  released  from 
the  promise  I  have  given!"  said  Bernard, 
whose  resentment  was  kindUng  against  the 
prisoner. 

Louis  stepped  forward  with  noble  bearing 
and  confronted  Dolgorow. 

"  Can  you  roilly  dare  thus  to  defy  the 
Great  Judge,  not  of  your  deeds  alone,  but 
your  very  thoughts  ?  Cease,  at  least,  to  tor- 
ture a  noble  spirit,  and  a  pure  being  with  un- 
worthy slander  and  insult.  No  one  tliat 
hears  you  here  can  be  deceived  by  any  false- 
hood that  you  can  utter." 

Dolgorow  did  not  answer. 

Gregorius  raised  his  hands  to  heaven,  and 
poured  forth  a  solemn  praye»: 

"  Heavenly  Father ! — give  to  this,  thy  in- 
nocent daughter,  thy  grace  and  blessing.  She 
is  weak  and  innocent  before  thee !" 

After  this  he  laid  his  hands  on  Bianca's 
head: 

'•  Receive  the  blessing  of  the  Lord !  His 
mighty  arm  shall  lift  itself  over  thee,  pro- 
tecting thee  against  the  wrath  of  the  wicked ! 
And  albeit  thy  true  parents  should  pronounce 
a  curse  upon  thee,  yet  that  should  harmlessly 
pass,  seeing  that  the  shield  of  the  Lord  is 
spread  above  thine  head.  Depart  in  peace, 
whithersoever  the  sacred  affections  of  thine 
own  pure  heart  doth  lead  thee.  Guiltless 
art  thou,  and  so  shall  the  fulness  of  joy  re- 
served for  the  fiuthful,  await  thy  comng 
years." 

Having  pronounced  this  benediction,  the 
aged.priest  turned  to  leave  the  saloon.  Bianca 
endeavored  to  follow  him,  but  required  the 
aid  of  Bernard  and  Louis  to  support  her 
steps. 

Willhofen  met  them  at  the  gate  : 

"  Let  me  entreat  you,  dear  sir,  make  haste 
into  the  sleigh;  we  have  no  time  to  spare — 
we  must  be  away.  Wrap  yourselves  up 
warm,  for  the  night  is  bitterly  cold.  I  am 
ready  to  conduct  you  on  horseback,  'for  I 
must  ride  to  keep  myself  warm." 


954 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


Louis  followed  the  advice  of  his  honest 
friend.  He  assisted  Bernard  in  placing  his 
sister  in  the  sleigh,  and  then  took  his  seat  on 
the  part  designed  for  the  driver,  and  once 
more  took  the  reins  into  his  hand. 

Bianca  took  care  of  her  brother,  who  still 
felt  himself  weak  from  tiie  loss  of  blood, 
and  whose  wound  became  more  painfully 
affected  by  the  piercing  nature  of  the  cold. 
As  a  greater  amount  of  room  was  requisite 
for  the  accommodation  of  Bernard,  Bianca's 
waiting-maid  was  transferred  to  the  care  of 
Father  Gregorius,  who  took  her  into  his  own 
sleigh. 

Willhofen  had,  in  the  meantime,  collected 
the  captive  Frenchmen,  who,  without  loss 
of  time,  provided  themselves  with  the  cloth- 
ing, victuals,  and  aitns  which  were  to  be 
found  in  the  castle.  Taking  aside  their 
commander,  a  young  officer,  he  suggested  to 
him  the  best  course  for  him  to  pursue. 

"  Follow  the  track  of  the  sleighs,"  he  said, 
"  until  yoti  come  to  three  great  firs,  near 
which  stimds  a  sign-post.  Here,  if  you 
should  see  the  track  of  the  sleigh  turning  to 
the  left,  turn  to  the  right,  for  by  that  road 
you  will  reach  Smolensk©  in  two  hours.. 
The  night  is  starlight,  and  with  the  aid  of  the 
snOw  you  will  get  along  safely.  The  Coun- 
tess had  better  remain  in  the  castle,  but  take 
the  Count  along  with  you  as  a  hostage,  in 
case  any  Russian  peasants  or  Cossacks  should 
meet  you  on  the  way.  I  Avill  answer  for 
their  not  injuring  a  hair  of  your  heads,  if  his 
life  depends  on  it.  And  if  you  follow  my 
advice,  you  will  allow  him  to  return  uninjured, 
as  soon  as  you  sliall  reach  the  city,  for  it  is 
not  advisable  to  tempt  the  vengeance  of  his 
enemies ;  and  moreover,  if  you  allow  him  to 
return  in  peace,  it  may  be  of  service  to  you 
at  some  future  day.  But,  at  all  events, 
hasten  to  leave  the  castle  immediately,  for 
here  you  are  not  safe  for  an  hour  against 
unexpected  guests.  If  you  desire  to  obtain 
horses,  there  are  yet  several  in  the  stables, 
but  the  bridles  are  lying  in  the  castle  ditch 
behind  the  old  wall.     And  now,  farewell !" 

The  old  man  sprang  upon  his  horse  and 
galloped  fortli  from  the  castle  gate.  The 
two  sleighs  followed  at  full  speed.  Soon 
afterwards  the  delivered  prisoners  commenced 
their  march,  taking  their  hostage,  Dolgorow, 
in  their  midst.  They  left  the  castle  in  a  com- 
pact and  orderly  body. 

Once  only  Bianca  turned  her  head.  When 
the  towers  of  the  castle  vanished  at  length 
from  her  sight,  she  breathed  more  freely  and 
composedly.  The  dark  forest  veiled  her 
within  its  solemn  shades  ;  she  bent  down  her 
lovely  head  upon  the  bosom  of  her  brother, 
and  found  relief  in  tears,  such  as  joy,  rather 
than  sol-row,  is  wont  to  pour  forth. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

Before  dawn  of  day,  Rasinski,  at  the 
head  of  the  brave  fellows  who  yet  remained 
of  his  regiment,  and  occupying  the  centre 
of  the  columns  formed  by  Marshal  Ney's 
departing  divisions,  left  the  encircling  walls 
of  Smolensko.  The  sky  was  overcast ;  not 
a  star  was  visible  through  its  dark  canopy. 
The  only  light  which,  in  some  measure,  re- 
lieved the  darkness,  was  the  feeble  reflection 
of  the  mantle  of  snow  which  covered  th» 
fields.  Surrounding  nature  was  sad  and 
silent ;  the  rumbling  of  the  few  field-pieces 
which  could  yet  be  brought  away  on  their 
carriages,  and  the  clatter  of  arms,  were  the 
only  sounds  which  broke  upon  the  ear  in  this 
oppressive  silence ;  for  the  soldiers  uttered 
not  a  word,  but  plodded  noiselessly,  and 
brooding,  through  this  wilderness  of  wintry 
desolatioti. 

After  an  hour's  march,  these  warriors,  the 
last  in  retreat  from  inhospitable  Russia, 
reached  a  dense  forest  of  fir-trees.  Suddenly ' 
a  hollow  crash  was  heard  in  the  rear,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  the  reflection  of  a  strong 
light  shone  upon  the  tops  of  the  old  trees. 
Every  one  looked  up  in  listening  attention, 
fur  they  believed,  at  first,  that  what  they 
heard  was  the  discharge  of  the  enemy's  ar- 
tillery. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Rasinski  to  Jaromir, 
who  rbde  by  his  side  ;  "  they  are  blowing  up 
the  walls  and  towers  of  the  fortifications.  It 
is  the  old  prerogative  of  war  to  leave  nothing 
to  the  enemy  of  which  we  cannot  keep  pos- 
session ourselves." 

The  dull,  heavy  reports  continued  yet  some 
time  longer.  Day  began  to  break.  Gradu- 
ally the  lines  of  marching  troops  and  trains 
of  wagons  became  visible. 

"  Keep  a  good  look-out  on  the  men,  Jaro- 
mir," said  Rasinski;  "I  will  go  to  ascertain 
how  it  fares  with  our  sick  and  wounded." 

Having  said  this,  he  rode  along  the  line 
to  the  wagons  on  which  were  carried  the 
wounded  of  whose  lives  and  recovery  hopes 
were  still  entertained.  All  others  had,  from 
necessity,  been  resigned  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  enemy. 

Boleslaus,  wounded  by  a  shot  in  the  side, 
but  not  dangerously,  lay  with  others  of  the 
regiment  on  a  wagon  procured  through  the 
untiring  efforts  of  Rasinski. 

"  Well,  how  do  )'ou  get  alonjr,  friends  ?" 
Rasinski  asked  his  men,  extending  his  hand 
to  Boleslaus. 

"  As  well  as  we  can,"  answered  the  young 
officer,  sitting  pale  and  anxious,  with  his 
face  deeply  hidden  in  his  doak,  while  his 
head  was  tied  around  with  a  black  silk- 
handkerchief  to  protect  it  from  the  cold 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


"Have  yoa  been  able  to  learn  anything, 
Colonel  ?" 

"  It  was  all  in  vain,"  answered  Rasinski, 
Badly.  "  This  insatiable  war,  which  has 
already  devoured  so  many  brave  and  noble 
fellows,  craved  these  also  for  his  prey  !  I 
would  not  cocn plain  if  they  were  of  our  own 
people  !  I  would  have  consoled  myself  with 
the  thought  that  they  had  fallen  in  their 
country's  cause  ;  the  battle  was  a  cast  of  the 
die  with  them ;  they  hazarded  life  and  limb 
upon  it,  like  the  rest  of  us.  To  one,  the  die 
turns  up  the  grim  tyrant,  death  ;  to  another, 
the  pleasures  of  life.  We  are  prepared  for 
either — we  know  what  is  before  us,  and  must 
not  murmur.  But  these  our  friends  ! — they 
did  not  join  us  and  come  hither  from  choice  ! 
War,  which  wields  a  trenchant  sword  over 
every  other  head,  ought  to  have  covered 
them  with  its  broad  aegis  !  Alas !  this  all- 
devouring  wretchedness  and  terror  has  swal- 
lowed them  up  too.  It  must  be  borne  and 
surmounted,  Boleslaus  ;  for  we  are  men,  and 
not  children." 

"  Who  can  tell,"  answered  Boleslaus,  sor- 
rowfully, "  how  soon  we  may  join  them  !" 

'•  Ttiere  is  nothing  I  more  desire,"  replied 
Rasinski,  misunderstanding  his  meaninij;. 

"  I  mean  that  here  death  does  not  suffer 
comifades  to  be  long  separated,"  said  the 
young  man,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  and 
turning  his  large  black  eyes,  first,  on  the 
miserable  objects. around  him,  and  then  into 
the  distance,  as  if  contrasting  the  ^piring 
energies  of  these  sufferers  with  the  un- 
'  bounded  space  which  they  would  have  to 
traverse  be  lore  arriving  at  the  delectable 
spots  of  their  home. 

"  Dost  thou  mean  it  so  ? — then  certainly 
thou  art  right,"  answered  Rasinski.  "  Art 
thou  so  weakened  by  thy  wound  that  it  re- 
minds thee  of  dying  ?'" 

"  No,"  answered  Boleslaus ;  "  1  feel  better. 
Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  mount  my  horse 
again  in  a  few  days.  Even  to-day  1  could 
walk  or  ride  a  short  distance." 

"Well,  then,  farewell!"  said  Rasinski, 
quickly,  and  weil-niuh  harshly,  fearing  .to 
let  his  ieelinjrs  overcome  hira ;  "  I  will  not 
forget  to  attend  to  you,  comrades,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  rest  of  the  invalids,  and  then 
seitinj/  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  hastened  back 
to  Jaromir. 

Boleslaus,  whose  serious  and  reserved 
chiiracier  possessed  a  keener  sensibility  than 
he  was  accustomed  to  manifest,  was  very 
deeply  affected  by  the  loss  of  Bernard  and 
Louis.  There  was  hardly  room  for  any 
other  conjecture  than  that  they  were  dead  ; 
for  as  they  must  have  learned  that  Rasinski 
had  been  suddenly  ordered  to  unite  himself, 
with  his  regiment,  to  Ney's  corps,  they  must 
certainly  have  endeavored    to  join  him,  or 


at  least  would  have  tarried  for  him  at  Smo- 
lensko.  There  were  still  many  in  the  city 
who  would  have  given  them  information, 
Colonel  Regnard  among  others,  who,  with 
the  Viceroy  of  Italy,  was  the  first  to  leave 
the  fort,  when  Rasinski  and  his  men  had 
already  entered  it.  But  to  no  one  had  they 
applied  ;  no  one  had  perceived  a  trace  of 
them.  If  they  had  departed  in  advance,  or 
if  an  opportunity  of  reaching  their  home  by 
a%iore  direct  or  easier  route  had  presented 
itself,  they  would  infallibly  have  taken  care 
to  impart  such  a  movement  to  Regnard,  and 
through  him  to  Rasinski.  The  real  truth 
of  their  fate  was  unknown  to  all,  and  thus 
they  were  reckoned  among  the  vast  number 
of  those  who  were  daily  found  missing  from 
the  ranks. 

Rasinski  bore  the  afflicting  loss  with  that 
manly  fortitude  with  which  he  rose  above 
even  the  heaviest  blows  of  adversity  ;  Jaro- 
mir, in  his  disturbed  mood,  envied  those  ivho 
were  delivered  from  the  galling  load  of  life  ; 
while  Boleslaus  suffered  the  keenest  sympa- 
thy of  a  devoted  brother. 

Thus  he  now  sat  sunk  in  mournful  revery, 
while  his  eye  wandered  over  the  moving 
troops  and  train  of  wagons  which,  mi  the 
grey  morning,  were  almost  lost  to^iew. 
The  road  passed  over  an  elevation,  which,  in 
its  declivity,  was  coated  over  with  ice,  so 
that  the  weak  and  tired  animals  were  unable 
to  pull  up  the  trifling  ascent,  notwithstand- 
ing the  exertions  of  the  drivers,  with  the  aid 
of  their  whips  and  curses.  The  wagons 
and  guns  were  thus  stopped  in  their  pro- 
gress, and  while  .the  horse  and  infantry 
passed  on,  they  remained  behind.  After  a 
while,  however,  they  all  succeeded  in  sur- 
mounting the  impediment,  which,  to  each 
successive  wagon  or  gun-carriage,  became 
less  formidable,  as  the  ice  was  broken  up 
by  its  predecessdr,  and  of  course  became  less 
slippery.  The  last  vehicles  had  nearly 
gained  the  highest  part  of  the  ridge,  and 
Boleslaus  was  on  one  of  these,  when  one, 
overladen  with  women  and  baggage,  in  spite 
of  all  the  efforts  of  horses  and  drivers,  was 
unable  to  come  up.  Those  behind  cursed 
and  raved,  insisting  that  the  cart  should  be 
left  behind.  They  would  have  driven  by, 
but  in  passing  over,  the  most  level  part  had 
at  once  been  selected  by  the  foremost  wa- 
gon, and  every  attempt  to  reach  the  summit 
by  another  path  would  have  been  far  more 
difficult,  if  not  impossible.  In  this  way  two 
wretched  horses  strained  every  muscle  and 
sinew  to  scramble  up  the  slippery  ascent, 
but  in  vain  ;  equally  fruitless  was  it  to  seek 
help  from  the  men,  as  there  were  none  but 
sick  and  wounded,  and  the  drivers  themselves 
belonged  to  the  same  category.  At  last  the 
two  poor  animals,  when  half-way  up  the  bill, 


256 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


fell  down  exhausted,  and  not  being  able  any 
longer  to  hold  the  wagon  hack,  it  began  a 
retrograde  motion,  dragging  the  horses  along 
with  it.  A  cry  of  terror  and  dismay  arose 
at  this  sight,  as  well  from  those  in  the  vehicle 
itself,  as  from  those  whom  it  threatened 
behind.  But  there  was  no  one  in  real  dan- 
ger but  the  former,  for  the  wagon  slid  down 
sideways;  one  of  the  wheels  sunk  into  a 
deep  gully ;  the  other  struck  against  a  blocj^ 
of  ice,  and  the  wagon  was  overturned  with 
a  great  crash.  • 

By  their  own  troubles  and  need  of  deliver- 
ance, the  feelings  of  these  people  had  become 
so  blunted  and  torpid,  that  those  behind  ma- 
nifested more  satisfaction  that  the  object 
was  out  of  the  way,  than  they  did  pity  for 
the  fate  of  their  sick  comrades  and  the  help- 
less women  scattered  on  the  road.  These 
had,  however,  quickly  gathered  themselves 
up  again,  and  seeing  their  conveyance  per- 
fectly useless,  they  hastened,  with  their  traps 
and  little  property  in  their  arras,  towards  the 
nearest  wagons,  to  seek  for  places  there  ; 
but  they  were,  for  the  most  part,  roughly  re- 
pulsed. 

When  Boleslaus  saw  wounded  soldiers 
and  w(%en  driven  back  with  savage  bitter- 
ness by  the  whips  of  the  drivers,  he  was  cut 
to  the  heart.  He  raised  himself  and  cried 
out: 

"  Friends,  don't  leave  your  comrades  be- 
hind !  Come  here,  old  man  !"  he  cried  to 
an  old  grenadier,  severely  wounded  ;  "  come 
here,  we  will  take  you  up,  and  one  of  us 
can  go  on  foot  by  turns.  I  will  be  the  first 
myself  to  try  it." 

So  saying,  he  reached  out  his  arms  to  the 
aged  warrior  to  help  him  into  the  wagon, 
while  he  got  down  himself. 

This  example  had  a  good  eflfect.  It  was 
resolved  to  take  one  of  the  wounded  into 
each  wagon.  But  there  were  not  as  many 
wagons  as  there  were  claimants,  and  a 
young  woman,  closely  enveloped  in  a  fur 
cloak,  and  with  a  child  about  three  years  of 
age  in  her  arms,  and  apparently  the  wife  of 
some  officer,  was  repulsed  everywhere,  while 
her  two  companions  had  already  found  places. 

Shall  the  mother  perish  in  this  desert,  on 
account  of  her  child  ?  thought  Boleslaus,  a 
shudder  passing  over  him  the  while.  But  a 
deeper  horror  came  over  him,  when  he  saw 
the  unfortunate  woman  suddenly  fling  down 
the  child  into  the  snow-bank,  and  thus  freed 
frouj  her  encumbrance,  run  to  the  next 
wagon  :* 


•  At  the  gates  of  the  town  (Smolensko)  nn  infamous 
act  struck  ;ill  witnes.-es  with  a  horror  that  still  survives. 
A  mother  abandoned  her  son,  a  child  of  five  years  old  • 
in  spite  of  his  cries  and  tears  she  repulsed  him  from' 
her  overlottded  sledi;e,  wildly  exclaiming  that ''  he  had 
not  seen  France! — he  would  not  regret  it!  But  as  to 
her,  she  knew  France! — she  must  see  her  country 


"  Take  me  alone,  then  !"  she  cried,  in 
tones  of  heart-rending  anguish  ;  "  you  will 
at  least  save  one  life  ?" 

This  unnatural  conduct  of  the  mother 
filled  even  these  men,  hardened  &S  they  were 
to  every  misery  incidental  to  war,  with  a 
feeling  of  horror  and  disgust.  Bolcslaua 
ran  to  the  crying  child,  which  was  nearly 
smothered  in  the  deep  snow,  and  took  it  up. 
But  how  did  his  heart  quiver,  when,  in  that 
little  creature,  he  recognised  the  foster-child 
of  Alisette ;  and  herself,  in  the  pitifully  in- 
sane suppliant  begging  to  be  saved. 

"  Almighty  God  !"  he  cried,  horror-struck, 
this  is  the  hand  of  retribution  !" 

All  feeling  of  pity  and  commisseration  was 
banished  from  the  men  by  this  act  of  the 
wretched  woman.  A  rude  feeling  of  plea- 
sure even  at  having  it  in  their  power  imme- 
diately to  avenge  such  an  outrage,  usurped 
its  place  in  their  breasts. 

"  Give  us  the  child,  we  will  save  the  poor 
innocent,"  cried  a  chasseur  from  the  wagon 
into  which  Alisette  had  made  a  fruitless  at- 
tempt to  climb,  while  at  the  same  time  ho 
drove  back  the  unhappy  women  with  heavy 
blows  of  his  fist.  Boleslaus  obeyed  the  call, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  did.  The  chasseur 
reached  out  his  hands  towards  him,  lifted  the 
little  creature  into  the  wagon,  and  the  un- 
couth bearded  warrior  took  it  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  and  caressed  it  with  great  affec- 
tion. In  the  meantime  Alisette  had  rushed 
to  the  next  wagon,  endeavoring  by  tears  and 
wringing  of  hands  to  move  the  people  there 
to  compassion.  But  indignation  had  hard- 
ened every  heart  against  her,  and  a  grey- 
headed sergeant  cried  out  to  her  ^n  harsh  ac- 
cents :  "  Away  with  you,  wretch  !  you  may 
run  on  foot  through  the  snow  !" 

"  Oh !  have  pity  on  my  youth,"  whined 
Alisette,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees  and 
wringing  her  hands. 

Boleslaus  now  approached,  touched  her 
on  the  shoulder,  and  said  earnestly  yet  mild- 
ly :  "  Compo.<e  yourself,  Alisette  ;  you  must 
bear  your  fate  patiently.  The. trial  must  be 
endured  and  conquered  ;  I  will  assist  you  as 
far  as  I  am  able." 

The  unhappy  woman,  still  on  her  knee?, 
had  been  looking  at  him  with  half-insane 
eyes,  during  these  words  ;  it  was  not  till  he 
had  finished  speaking  that  she  seemed  to 
recognise  him. 

"  Oh,  in  hnppier  days  you  could  sue  so 
humbly  for  a  song  !     And  now  you  are  wil- 


figain !"  Twice  did  Ney  have  the  poor  child  replaced 
in  its  mother's  arms ;  thrice  she  threw  it  ujion  the 
frozen  snow.  But  amongst  a  thou^^and  instances  of 
sublime  and  tender  devotedness,  this  solit;iry  crime  was 
not  left  unpunished.  This  unnatural  parent  was  herself 
abandoned  upon  the  snow,  whence  her  victini  was 
raised  and  confided  to  another  mother.  At  the  Beresina, 
at  Wilna,  and  Kowno,  the  orphan  was  seen,  and  he 
^nally  escaped  all  the  horrors  of  the  reii'eat— S«£-ur 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


ssr 


ling  to  give  me  over  a  prey  to  nameless  tor- 
ture !     I  shall  perish  in  this  wilderness  !" 

On  siiying  this,  she  sprang  up,  rushed  vio- 
lently to  the  wagon,  where  the  child  sat 
trembling,  clinging  to  the  breast  of  the  old 
yager ;  and  before  any  one  was  aware  what 
waa  her  intention,  she  snatched  the  child 
away,  and  the  second  time  threw  the  inno- 
cent  creature  in  the  snow,  crying,  "  Let  it 
lie  there ;  it  does  not  yet  know  how  sweet 
is  life — how  terrible  death  appears  in  this 
place;  but  save  me;  I  know  how  beautiful 
thiri  world  is,  for  I  have  seen  happier  days !" 

With  these  words  she  made  a  convulsive 
effort  to  fasten  herself  upon  the  wagon,  nut 
even  heeding  the  hard  knocks  ana  blows 
dealt  her  from  the  hand  of  the  chasseur. 

"  Away,  reptile !"  he  cried  in  exaspera- 
tion ;  "  away,  viper !  Whoever  takes  you  np 
would  call  down  the  wrath  of  God  upon  him- 
self. Let  the  wolves  tear  thee  to  pieces 
here,  thou  worse  than  she-wolf!" 

At  the  same  time,  assisted  by  the  others, 
he  violently  wrenched  away  her  hard-clutch- 
ing hands,  and  flung  her  back,  so  that  she 
fell  stunned  on  the  ground. 

Boleslaus  had  in  the  meantime  again  taken 
the  child  into  his  arms,  bleeding  as  it  was 
from  its  violent  full,  and  handed  it  over  to 
the  old  soldier.  When  he  then  beheld  Ali- 
sette  lying  prostrate,  her  hair  flying  loose, 
and  her  wandering  eye  and  trembling  hands 
feebly  directed  towards  heaven,  her  misery 
seemed  to  him  greater  than  the  enormity  of 
her  crime.  He  went  to  her,  and  raised  her 
from  the  ground.  When  in  some  measure 
she  recovered  from  her  stupefaction  and  be- 
came aware  that  again  it  was  Bolesiaus 
who  with  manly  kindness  tuld  her  to  be 
calm,  i=li_e  threw  herself  in  an  agony  of  de- 
spair before  him,  embraced  his  knees,  and 
exclaimed  : 

"  You  must  save  me  !  You  cannot  give 
me  up  to  these  horrors !  I  will  not  leave 
you  until  you  swear  to  save  me  !• 

She  clasped  his  feet  so  lightly,  that  weak 
as  he  was  from  his  wound,  he  was  unable  to 
extricate  himself.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
cried  to  her  to  compose  herself  and  arise  ;  in 
her  pliren^y  she  did  not  hear  a  word  he  said. 
Meanwhile  the  wagons  began  to  move  on- 
wards again  ;  two  had  ascended  the  slippery 
ridge  ;  that  to  which  Boleslaus  belonged  was 
just  following  ro  encounter  the  same  difficul- 
ties ;  four  only  were  behind,  and  were  sta- 
tionary. It  was  high  time  for  those  who 
out  of  kindness  and  pity  had  volunteered  to 
take  turns  in  walking,  to  be  on  their  way. 
Five  or  six  of  these  men  had  gathered  around 
Boleslaus,  partly  to  be  near  the  officer,  which 
always  inspires  confidence,  as  being  a  more 
distinguished  station,  and  partly  attracted  by 
the  scene  going  forward.  On  perceiving 
17 


that  he  was  unable  to  tear  himself  from  thd 
unfortunate  woman  who  held  him  firmly  fet- 
tered, they  tore  her  by  force  away  from  him, 
and  threw  her  back  into  the  snow. 

'*  Push  on.  Lieutenant !"  cried  a  young 
soldier ;  "  forward,  or  we  will  be  left.  The 
lady  has  a  good  pair  of  legs ;  she  can  get 
along  better  than  we." 

On  this  the  young  soldier  took  hold  of  him 
on  one  side,  and  a  dragoon  on  the  other,  and 
eo  they  carried  him  away  between  them.  In 
his  weakened  state,  this  exciting  scene,  which 
had  in  so  many  ways  roused  his  feelings, 
so  aflected  him,  that  he  could  scarcely  stand 
erect.  Yet  he  turned  around  once  more,  and 
cried  out  to  Alisette,  now  entirely  giving 
way  to  despair: 

"  Muster  all  your  courage,  unhappy  wo- 
man, and  as  you  value  life,  try  what  yoa  can 
do!" 

But  she  was  deaf  to  these  counsels  of  rea- 
son, which  required  calmness,  patience  and 
resolution,  sentiments  which  found  no  place 
in  a  heart  dead  to  all  but  waywardness  and 
indulgence.  She  had  witnessed  the  increasing 
horrors  of  this  war  from  day  to  day,  with  a 
feeling  of  boding  dread ;  but  deceived  and  ren- 
dered callous  by  her  infatuation,  her  eyes  had 
been  firmly  closed  against  the  possibility  of 
so  shocking  a  fate  ever  befalling  her.    She 
had  been  accustomed  to  regard  it  as  such  an 
unheard-of  stroke  of  fortune,  that  now,  when 
the  hour  had  come,  she  lost  all  power  and 
self-possession.     Nothing  would  have  been 
lost,  had  she  not  seen  utter  destruction  al- 
ready in  the  mere  necessity,  hard  enough  it 
is  true,  to  meet  great  privations.     Thus  she 
worked  out  her  own  ruin.     In  considering 
what   she  must  relinquish,  she  lost  all  re- 
membrance of  what  still  was  left  to  her  ;  the 
awful  retribution  of  an  immoral  and  vitiated 
nature,  which  covets  only  to  enjoy  life  mere- 
ly for  enjoyment's  sakp,  and  employs  every 
faculty  and  means  for  that  end  alone,  now 
descended  upon  her  devoted  head  with  over- 
whelming force.     She  was   utterly  unpre- 
pared to  meet  days  of  severe  endurance ; 
she  shrunk  before  them  in  utter  hopeless- 
ness, unprepared  for  the  smallest  exertion. 
It  was  not  till  the  last  wagon  was  put  in 
motion,  and  the  horses,  amidst  loud  cries  and 
heavy  blows,  were  crawling  up  the  icy  ac- 
clivity, or  straining  every  fibre  in  their  bod- 
ies— not  till  she  was  seized  with  the  dread- 
ful certainty  of  being  left  utterly  alone,  that 
she  rushed  like  a  maniac  with  her  dishevel- 
led hair  streaming  about  face  and  shoulders, 
after  the  departing  vehicle.    In  her  phrensy 
she  endeavored  to  cling  to  the  last  wagon, 
but  the  men,  who  already  feared  that  the 
horses  would  not  be  able  to  overcome  the 
difficulty,  thrust  at  her  with  their  swordx 
and  bayonets,  inflicting  several  wounds  and 


258 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


severe  contusions.  Impelled  by  mortal  an- 
guii^h,  she  now  laid  hold  of  the  hind-wheel  ot 
the  wagon,  which  from  the  frozen  snow  with 
which  it  was  clogged  had  ceased  to  turn 
round,  and  thus  let  herself  be  dragged  along. 
But  as  this  very  much  increased  the  load  for 
the  weak  and  weary  animals,  a  wounded  cui- 
rassier, who  was  lying  in  the  wagon,  drew 
his  pistol  and  threatened  to  shoot  her  down, 
unless  she  let  go  her  hold.  Her  hands, 
paralyzed  by  this  new  and  sudden  terror, 
sank  powerless  to  her  side,  and  she  sank 
moaning  in  the  road.  It  was  thus  that  Bo- 
leslaus  saw  her  as  he  threw  a  last  look 
after  her;  he  struggled  irresolutely  with 
himself,  whether  to  return  to  her  once  more, 
but  the  soldiers  pulled  him  onward  by  main 
strength,  while  the  young  soldier  who  had 
spoken  before,  cried : 

♦'  Let  her  alone ;  a  mother  who  would 
murder  her  child  is  thus  justly  punished  !" 

At  Korithnia  the  retreating  army  was 
overtaken  by  night ;  some  went  into  bivouac, 
others  established  themselves  in  the  ruined 
houses  of  the  little  place.  Rasinski,  as 
usual,  had  through  his  indefatigable  activity 
procured  such  accommodations  for  his  peo- 
ple as,  under  the  circumstances,  to  make 
their  lot  not  an  unenviable  one. 

But  they  had  not  had  lime  to  establish 
themselves  by  their  camp-fires,  when  a 
shower  of  balls  flew  over  their  heads. 

"  We  are  attacked  !"  cried  Rasinski,  spring- 
ing up:  "  to  arms  !  quick  !  to  horse  !" 

In  a  moment  he  was  himself  on  horse- 
back, and  had  already  begun  putting  his 
men  in  order,  when  Marshal  Ney  came  to- 
wards him  at  full  gallop,  and  cried  out : 

"  Colonel,  reconnoitre  the  left  flank  of  the 
camp  with  your  men,  and  report  to  me  in- 
stantly on  falling  in  with  the  enemy." 

The  Marshal  spurred  on  into  the  midst  of 
the  camp,  collecting  and  arranging  the  sur- 
prised troops.  Rasinski,  at  the  head  uf  his 
few  but  resolute  followers,  rode  forward  in 
the  darkness,  in  order  to  seek  out  the  en- 
emy who  had  announced  their  presence  in 
so  formidable  a  manner.  It  appeared  strange 
that  they  had  bnt  once  discharged  their  guns 
and  then  observed  complete  silence  ;  but  the 
fighting  in  this  retreat,  through  darkness, 
forests,  and  impassable  deserts  of  snow,  was 
so  replete  with  extraordinary  occurrences, 
that  every  day  and  every  night  developed 
some  new  and  unheard-of  trait  in  the  history 
of  this  war. 

Rasinski  thought  that  he  discovered  some 
dark-looking  masses  on  a  height  close  by 
the  camp,  as  if  lying  on  the  snow. 

"  Is  that  brushwood  or  is  it  people  ?"  he 
inquired,  turning  to  Ja^mir. 

"  Nothing  is  to  be  distinctly  seen  yet," 
answered  the  latter. 


"  In  God's  name,  let  us  up  to  it  then  !** 
returned  Rasinski,  riding  nearer.  But  the 
ground  soon  shelved  down  with  an  alxnpt 
pitch  which  tl'ey  could  not  descend  on  li  'tse- 
back,  and  which  compelled  them  to  T't'ow 
along  the  steep  edge.  Suddenly,  like  a 
frightened  flock  of  birds,  fifteen  or  twenty 
Cossacks  hurried  away  from  a  corner  of  the 
hollow,  and  on  their  small,  nimble  horses 
galloped  up  the  other  side,  which  was  not  so 
Sleep.  Rasinski  commanded  his  men  to 
fire, — more  to  scare  Than  hurt  the  enemy. 
They  fled  hastily  across  the  field,  and  were 
soon  lost  in  darkness.  In  a  few  ininiites 
those  large  masses  on  the  white  snow  iilso 
were  in  motion,  and  it  became  evident  ttiat  it 
was  a  pretty  large  detachment  of  Co^stu  ks, 
who  now  retreated,  being  warned  of  the  en» 
my's  approach  by  the  flight  of  the  first  few, 
and  by  the  firing. 

Cautiously  Rasinski  led  his  men  down  a 
less  dangerous  path.  He  now  speedily  dis- 
covered the  cause  of  the  noise,  which  iliey 
had  taken  for  a  discharjre  of  artillery.  They 
encountered  a  number  of  field-pieces  with 
their  tumbrils  attached,  filled  with  ammuni- 
tion, but  the  guns  were  spiked,  having  been 
left  beliind  for  want  of  means  of  conveyarce. 
A  little  farther  back  they  found  guns  and 
ammunition-wagons  blown  up.  Pro-bably 
the  Cossacks  just  seen  had  set  fire  to  several 
of  these  wagons,  and  were  prevented  only 
by  the  irruption  of  Rasinski  from  blowing  up 
the  whole. 

Rasinski  was  glad  to  detect  the  true 
cause  of  the  alarm,  and  wished  therefore  to 
return  quickly,  so  as  to  report  to  the  mHr>hal. 
But  as  he  rode  along  through  the  hollow,  he 
saw  a  man  about  thirty  paces  before  him, 
running  at  full  speed  ahmg  the  edge  of  the 
hill.  Thinking  that  it  was  a  Rus.-ian,  he 
called  out  in  that  knguage,  commanding 
him  to  stop.  The  fugitive  sfemed  struck 
aback,  but  again  vigorously  pursued  his 
course.  "Jhe  hill  being  of  easy  ascent  at 
this  place,  Rasinski  and  Jaromir  spurred  on 
after  him,  followed  by,  two  troopers,  so  as 
not  to  suffer  a  man  to  escape,  who  might 
communicate  important  information  about 
the  strength  and  distance  of  the  enemy.  He 
fled  with  all  his  powers,  but  sank  at  length, 
exhausted,  in  the  deep  snow,  and  was  seized 
by  his  pursuers.  To  the  great  astonish- 
ment of  Rasinski,  the  prisoner,  in  surrender- 
ing, cried  out:  "Does  any  one  among  joo 
speak  French  ?" 

"  The  devil !  I  should  know  that  voice," 
answered  Rasinski,  in  French.  "  \Vl;o  are 
you  ?" 

"  Rasinski,  is  that  you  ? — is  it  possible  ?" 
cried  the  prisoner,  joyfully  extending  his 
arms  towards  him.  "  I  am  Regnard ;  do  you 
not  know  me?"  < 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSI^ 


^ 


♦*  Regnard !  how  in  (rod's  name  came  you 
here  ?"  asked  Hasinski  in  glad  surprise. 

"  Tiie  tale  is  siiori  and  clear,  but  not  very 
edifying,"  answered  Regnard;  "and  you 
shall  hear  it  more  circamstantially  than  will 
please  you;  but  in  the  meantime  I  advise 
you  nut  to  tarry  here.i  bouts,  but  to  seek  a 
safer  place,  if  one  is  to  be  found.  There  are 
more  Russians  in  this  vicinity  than  there  are 
trees  in  the  forest.  But  wtiere  do  you  come 
from  ?" 

"  With  Marshal  Ney  from  Smolensko," 
answered  Rasinski ;  "  our  bivouac  is  not  five 
hundred  yards  from  here." 

'*  Then  let  us  make  haste  to  get  to  it.  I 
will  t<'U  you  all  as  we  go  along." 

Jaromir  ollered  the  Colonel  his  horse, 
which  he  declined,  but  walked  between  him 
and  Ra^iinski  rapidly  towards  the  bivouac. 

"  You  know,"  he  began,  "that  I  marched 
out  of  Smolensko  with  the  Viceroy.  Yes- 
terday we  were  attacked  by  the  Russians, 
about  three  hours'  march  from  here,  and  1 
was  taken  prisoner.  The  Cossacks  drove 
me  before  tliem  with  their  knouts,  or  cautS' 
chous,  until  I  found  a,  Russian  general,  to 
whom  I  cried  out  in  French,  to  save  me  from 
such  infamous  treatment.  But  the  brute 
only  set  up  a  loud  laugh,  saying  that  the 
knout  of  the  Co:3sacks  makes  as  little  dis- 
tinction between  the  rank  and  condition  of  a 
soldier  as  the  cannon-balls  do  ;  and  that  con- 
sequently  I  must  rest  satisfied. 

Rasinski  ground  his  teeth  with  indigna- 
tion. "  These  savages,"  he  cried,  "  who 
themselves  are  kept  under  by  the  law  of  the 
lash,  certainly  cannot  respect  the  honor  of 
a  brave  opponent ;  but  go  on,  go  on !" 

"  They  would  have  been  glad  to  get  rid  of 
me,  by  sending  me  to  Tobolsk  or  to  Irkutsk, 
but  luckily  or  unluckily,  so  few  prisoners 
had  been  made  that  they  were  not  considered 
worth  a  separate  transport ;  thus  I  was  drag- 
ged along  with  the  CossHck:s  into  whosie 
clutches  I  had  fallen.  About  ten  minutes 
ago,  a  pack  of  these  fellows  had  blown  up  a 
battery  left  in  the  mire  by  our  people,  but 
they  must  have  been  disturbed  in  their  work 
by  you  or  somebody  else ;  for  these  valiant 
heroes  came  to  the  pulk  stationed  up  there 
by  the  woods,  driving  through  the  snow  on 
their  little  animals,  to  report  that  the  enemy 
was  approaching.  The  Cossack,  however, 
is  intrepid  only  against  a  flying,  exhausted 
and  delenceless  enemy.  Show  him  a  bold 
front,  and  he  is  off  in  double-quick  time. 
This  did  these  fellows,  when  I  took  advantage 
of  a  momentary  confusion  among  them,  to 
ransom  myself  by  flight.  I  fell  in  with 
you.  Well,  Rasinski,  now  I  am  your  pri- 
soner, you  need  not  fear  that  I  will  run  away 
again." 

"  But  you  speak  of  an  engagement,  in 


which  the  Viceroy  was  engaged  9    How  did 
that  turn  out  ?"  asked  Rasinski. 

"  J  Was  riuing  by  the  side  of  the  Prince ; 
we  were  both  ab::orbed  in  gloomy  reflections, 
constantly  called  up  by  the  dismal  look  of 
things  around  us.  We  were  about  two 
hours'  march  from  Krasnoi,  when  the  niea 
took  alarm  at  something  marching  around 
us  in  great  numbers.  VVe  crowded  together 
and  formed  one  compact  mass.  Suddenly 
the  heights  before  us  tiecame  crested  by  dark 
masses,  and  with  terror  we  beheld  the  ene- 
my in  numbers  far  superior  to  our  own,  in- 
terposing themselves  between  us  and  ou^ 
home.  But  what  yet  more  stirred  tiie  heart 
of  every  soldier,  this  impassable  rampart  ruse 
between  us  and  our  Emperor.  We  now 
tirst  became  «aware  that  through  the  more 
rapid  pace  of  our  horses,  we  were  an  hour's 
march  ahead  of  our  corps,  and  that  the  roads 
were  swarming  with  only  the  emaciated, 
powerless  and  unarmed  fugitives.  At  the 
same  moment  a  Russian  (^cer  came  riding 
up,  and  summoned  us  to  surrender.  '  Twentj 
thousand  Russians  block  up  the  way  before 
you,'  he  cried,  '  and  fifty  guns  are  ready  to 
tear  you  in  pieces ;  your  Emperor  with  his 
guard  is  entirely  routed  ;  perhaps  at  this  mo- 
ment he  is  a  prisoner.'  I  saw  the  rage  of 
the  Viceroy,  which  even  deprived  him  of  the 
power  of  speech.  I  cried  out  therefore  with 
all  my  might,  •  Away  with  you  ! — if  yoa 
have  twenty  thousand  men,  we  have  eighty 
thousand.  A  Frenchman  never  surrenders 
before  fighting.'  The  Russian  rode  back, 
and  not  two  minutes  had  elapsed,  before  the 
hills  on  our  front  and  flanks  were  crowned 
with  batteries.  A  blaze  shot  forth,  and  thick 
clouds  of  smoke  rose  over  the  white  snow- 
masses,  as  if  the  jaws  of  ice-bound  Hecla 
were  opening  around  us.  A  shower  of 
grape  and  canister  burst  upon  us.  The  un- 
armed and  defenceless  fugitives  press  to- 
gether like  a  frightened  flock  of  sheep,  wl)en 
the  wolf  breaks  in  among  them.  Tlie  Vice- 
roy is  beside  himself  at  t^ing  separated  from 
his  corps  ;  he  feels  that  he  must  place  him- 
self at  their  head,  and  yet  cannot  make  up 
hLs  mind  to  abandon  the  helpless  multitude 
around  him. 

"But  the  chief  of  his  staff,  General  Guil- 
leminot,  urges  him  to  hasten  back,  while  we 
collect  the  despairing  people  around  us,  try 
to  reduce  tlieui  to  order,  and  inspire  them 
with  courage  to  offer  what  resistance  they 
can.  Among  those  scattered  about  in  the 
hollow  were  a  number  of  officers,  colonels, 
even  generals,  all  on  foot.  They  quickly 
assume  the  command  of  the  momentarily 
formed  companies;  the  general  becomes  a 
captain ;  the  colonel  his  lieutenant ;  the 
subaltern  enters  the  ranks  as  a  private 
Every  one  does  the  best  he  can  with  the 


m 


ETGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


arms  yet  left  to  him.  Only  a  few  have  mns- 
kets ;  most  have  only  their  side-arms,  which 
thpy  use  to  cot  wood  with  in  the  bivouac  ;  a 
great  many  have  nothing  but  a  cudgel  as  a 
support  to  their  enfeebled  bodies.  But  cour- 
age, the  kindling  fire  of  revenge,  compen- 
sates for  every  deficiency.  Thus  we  reso- 
lutely advanced  against  the  enemy,  while  the 
Viceroy  made  the  best  of  his  way  back. 

**For  one  hour  did  we  stand  under  that 
ilestrnetive  fire  of  grape  and  canister;  in 
▼atn  we  waited  for  Eugene  to  come  up  with 
hfs  troops,  and  break  open  the  way  of  escape 
towards  Krasnoi.  He  must,  no  doiibt,  also 
hhve  been  attacked  by  overwhelming  forces, 
for  we  heard  a  heavy  cannonading  in  our 
rear  and  in  front  also.  The  road  from  Smo- 
)ensl{o  to  Krasnoi  seemed  as  one  uninter- 
rupted battle-field.  At  last,  seeing  no  hope 
of  rescue  in  our  front,  we  determined  to  re- 
treat, and  open  ourselves  a  path  to  the  Vice 
roy,  from  whom  some  heavy  columns  of  the 
Russians  already  began  to  cut  us  off.  We 
clang  together  in  masses,  like  a  phalanx, 
and  again  turned  our  steps  into  the  wilder- 
ness. The  enemy,  who  had  advanced  close 
up  to  the  main  road,  did  nut  at  first  compre- 
hend our  purpose;  he  seemed  astonished, 
and  suffered  as  to  pass  half-way  by  him, 
calKiig  out  to  us,  as  we  hurried  past  hia  lines, 
lo  surrender.  We  did  not  Ksten  to  him. 
Those  who  came  too  near  were  answered 
with  ball  and  thrusts  of  the  bayonet.  Upon 
this,  terribly  did  the  fury  of  the  enemy  ex- 
plode. At  one  and  the  same  instant  ten 
thousand  men  and  thirty  cannons  dash 
their  whole  fire  upon  us,  and  half  our  brave 
fellows  lie  drsmembered  or  dead  strewed 
upon  the  snow,  which  they  crimson  with 
their  Uood.  The  rest,  however,  pressed  for- 
wartl  resolutely ;  they  cast  no  look  back  fo 
bid  thetr  fallen  comrades  furewell.  The 
thunder  of  the  enemy's  artillery  crashed  be- 
hind us,  hrs  balls  mowed  down  whole  mnks 
at  a  sweep — still  a  small  band  succeeded  in 
reaching  their  friends,  who  received  them 
with  open  arms.  I  believed  also  that  I  had 
happily  attained  that  goal ;  but  the  evil  one 
sent  a  pack  of  Cossacks  after  us, — those. 
Termin  now  first  plucked  up  courage  to  ad- 
vance to  make  prisoners  of  any  poor  devil 
lagging  behind.  Thus  I  fell  in  their  power 
— and  the  rest  you  know " 

"  We  are  very  happy  to  have  heard  it  from 
yourself  at  least,"  said  Rasinski,  giving  the 
dragoon  his  liand.  "  But  what  about  the 
Viceroy  ? — do  you  know  his  fate  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes !  Rasinski ;  for  had  he  been 
•Iain,  I  would  not  have  spoken  first  of  my- 
self. He  fought  like  a  lion  all  day.  You 
will  perhaps  see  the  marks  he  has  left  be- 
hind him.  Finally  night  threw  her  protect- 
ing shield  around  btra.    Be  it,  either  that  the 


Russians  wished  to  spare  him  this  day,  for,  bjr 
heaven !  we  did  not  sell  our  lives  cheaply—* 
or  be  it,  that  they  made  themselves  too  sure 
of  their  triumph,  they  made  no  determined 
effort  to  bring  matters  lo  an  issue,  content- 
ing themselves  with  guarding  every  pass 
and  passage  of  escape.  But  in  the  morning, 
the  nest  was  empty  afVer  all,  and  the  sua 
rose  just  in  time  to  show  to  the  Russians  the 
gallant  band  marching  on  towards  Krasnoi, 
and  beyond  all  possible  reach  of  successful 
pursuit.  I  myself  saw  their  bayonets  glit« 
tering  in  the  morning  sun,  and — but  do  not 
laugh  at  me,  I  beg — but  seriously,  I  uttered 
an  orison  of  thanksgiving — the  first  since  I 
was  a  boy." 

"  But  how  was  this  march  effected  ?"  ask- 
ed Rasinski  and  Jaromir  together. 

"  This  time,  we  have  to  thank  you,  the. 
Poles,"  answered  Regnard,  with  emotion, 
"  and  if  France  has  a  memory,  she  will  re- 
member as  long  as  Frenchaien  and  Poles 
exist,  that  she  is  indebted  to  you  for  the 
lives  of  a  whole  division  of  the  army,  and 
the  preservation  of  the  bravest  and  most 
humane  general  that  ever  led  Frenchmen 
info  the  fire  !" 

Rasinski's  attention  was  aroused  to  the 
utmost. 

"^  Listen  I  It  is  the  truth — for  a  dying 
countryman  told  it  to  me,  who,  poor  fellow, 
was  unable  to  hold  out.  Night  had  set  in. 
The  Viceroy  gave  liimself  up  for  lost ;  but 
still  be  was  determined  to- make  the  desper- 
ate attempt  of  outflanking  the  enemy.  By 
the  demonstrations  of  the  Prince,  they  had 
been  induced  to  concentrate  their  main  force 
on  the  left  side  of  the  road,  which  determined 
the  Viceroy  to  pass  him  by  the  right.  In 
the  middle  of  the  night,  he  silently  breaks  up, 
without  putting  out  his  watch-fires.  Hold- 
ing their  breath,  and  with  cautious  steps,  they 
pass  through  the  snowy  desert  along  the 
Russian  lines.  At  this  moment, as  if  all  the 
powers  of  nature,  as  well  as  the  infernal  re- 
gions, were  leagued  against  us,  the  full 
moon  arises  behind  a  bank  of  heavy  clouds, 
illuminating  the  snowy  suriace  with  her 
light.  Our  people  see  the  Russians  bo 
plainly  before  them,  that  they  must  be  seen 
by  them  in  return.  The  courage  of  the 
bravest  even  begins  to  sink.  A  Russian 
sentinel  surmises  what  is  going  forward  ;  he 
challenges  ;  and  at  tltis  crisis  the  noblest  sol- 
diers of  France,  the  pride  of  her  armies,  her 
bravest  warriors  were  irretrievably  lost — had 
not  a  Pole  saved  all.    Colonel  Kliski " 

'■  Ah  h  my  brave  countryman  1"  interrupt- 
ed Rasinski,  with  kindling  eyes,  already 
guessing  the  sequel. 

"  Colonel  Kliski,  without  a  moment's  de 
lay,  gallops  forward,  and  cries  out  ia  a  dii' 
guisra  voice  to  the  Russ : 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


261 


••  •  Art  thou  mad  ?  Hold  thy  tongae,  in- 
ttantly  !  Doet  thou  not  see  that  we  belong 
to  OuvHroflTs  corps,  and  are  stealing  into  the 
enemy's  rear  V 

"  Tne  man,  hearing  his  own  mother  tongue, 
stands  still  in  amazement.  Several  ot  his 
comrades,  and  some  otiicers  tou,  who  hear 
these  word«,  step  nearer,  and  otter  '  a  good 
eveninLT.'  Kliski  remains  still,  speaks  to  tliem 
in  a  lotv  but  friendly  maimer,  begs  theai  to 
keep  back  the  Cossacks,  so  that  they  may  not 
do  mischief  by  their  rashness  ;  and  thus  tar- 
ries in  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  until  he  clearly 
sees  that  our  troops  have  gained  a  clear 
passage.  Now  he  spurs  away  after  thein ; 
and  within  the  hour,  the  escape  is  success- 
fully completed." 

Manly  tears  rose  into  Rasinski's  eyes  as 
he  listened  to  this  exploit  of  his  countryman. 

"  Brave  Kliski !"  he  said  again,  "  thou 
wert  always  the  pride  of  Poland  ! — ^thou  wilt 
continue  to  be  such  fur  ages  to  come !" 

"  Yes,  France  owes  a  heavy  de!)t  of  grati- 
tude to  you,  Poles  !"  resumed  Reguard. 
**  She  would  deserce  the  contmnpl  of  all  honest 
men,  if  she  did  not  foreotr  remember  it,  and 
reward  you  for  it,  when  time  shall  prepare  the 
opporluniiy  to  do  so." 

"  Hut,  from  whom  did  you  receive  your  in- 
formation ?"  asked  Rasinski. 

"From  Captain  Lebrun,"  he  answered, 
*♦  of  the  Fortieth ;  a  brave  youth,  who  deserved 
a  better  fate." 

"  1  knew  him,"  said  Jaromir,  with  some 
emotion.  "  At  Moscow,  lie  was  in  bivouac 
close  by  our  quarters.  We  even  tuok  a  walk 
together  through  the  city  on  the  hrst  evening. 
And  he  has  fallen  ?" 

*'  He  had  been  wounded  during  the  day's 
fighting,"  continued  Regnard, ''  but  still  he 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  periorm  the 
necessary  march.  The  army  was  already 
secure  when  his  strength  failed  him  ;  he  fell 
behind,  and  was  picked  up  by  the  roving  Cos- 
sacks. By  accident  we  met,  when  he  told 
me  what  had  happened.  The  barbarous 
treatment  which  he  received — for  we  were 
not  even  supplied  with  food — the  loss  of  blood 
— in  short,  it  was  too  much  for  him.  Now 
he  lies  quiet  under  the  snow,  as  do  many 
thousands  more  of  ours ! — who  cares  about 
it  1" 

However  much  Regnard  endeavored  to 
maintain  the  dry,  careless  tone  of  a  narrator, 
those  who  knew  him  more  intimately  could 
not  but  observe  the  admixture  of  grief  and 
emotion,  which  he  could  not  suppress.  But, 
indeed,  times  and  seasons  were  such,  that  the 
most  hardened  were  rendered  feeling  and 
tender,  and  the  most  callous  had  to  shed 
scalding  tears. 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  bi- 
vouac.   Jaromir  was  plunged  in  deep  and 


mournful  reverie ;  for  the  remembrance  of 
Lebrun  called  up  before  his  soul  all  the  inci- 
dents of  those  days  which  became  so  event- 
ful to  htm,  with  renewed  force  and  liveliness. 
Even  the  disgusting  and  harrowing  scenes 
of  terror,  with  which  he  was  now  every  day 
surrounded,  faded  in  contrast  with  those 
glowing  images  stamped  upon  his  memory. 
Thus,  all  pain,  as  well  as  all  happiness,  has 
its  seat  in  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the  soul ; 
and  no  external  circumstance  can  penetrate 
the  breast  as  deeply,  as  self-created  sorrows 
or  joys  seat  themselves  there.  But  he  was 
yet  in  ignorance  of  Alisetie's  fate ; — the  for- 
bearance of  Boleslaus  had  kept  it  from  him, 
well  knowing  how  powerfully  it  would  shake 
bis  whole  being. 

Rasinski  and  Regnard  waited  upon  the 
Duke  of  Elchingen,  to  present  their  reports. 
The  Marshal  listened  with  the  most  marked 
attention  to  what  Regnard  disclosed  about 
the  events  of  the  day  previous.  He  inquired 
minutely  concerning  the  numbers  and  the 
probable  objects  of  the  enemy.  The  answers, 
of  course,  could  not  be  very  satisfactory. 

"  I  see  that  there  is  a  hot  day  in  reserve 
for  us  ;  but  it  will  be  a  day  of  glory !"  he  said, 
with  the  resolute  and  calm  mien  and  voice  of 
a  hero.  "  To-day  let  our  warriors  rest ;  they 
will  learn  betimes  that  they  have  to  combat 
not  only  the  terrors  of  nature,  but  an  enemy 
far  superior  in  numbers.  I  trust  we  shall 
conquer  both.  We  will  set  out  two  hours 
after  midnight." 

Ney  then  dismissed  Rasinski  and  Regnard. 
They  found  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus,  the  only 
remaining  officers  of  the  regiment,  at  the 
watch-fire.  Regnard  inquired  for  Bernard 
and  Louis.  A  look  from  Rasinski  left  tiim 
no  doubt  as  to  their  fate. 

"  Dead — these  also  \"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head.  **  This  soil,  encrusted  in  ice  as  with  a 
coat  of  mail,  is  as  bloodthirsty  as  a  vampire  !'* 

Jaromir,  while  relating  all  that  was  known 
about  the  two  missing  ones,  endeavored  once 
more  to  create  a  hope  in  their  behalf;  but 
Rasinski,  generally  so  full  of  courage  and 
conlidence,  where  others  had  long  abandon- 
ed all  hope,  rejected  every  consolation  of  that 
nature. 

"  In  this  case  I  see  nothing  for  me  to  build 
a  hope  upon,"  he  said,  "  and  for  that  reason 
I  am  the  less  concerned  about  what  may 
await  me  there"  pointing  with  his  hand  to 
the  region  throngh  which  their  route  was  to 
lead  them.  "  Thus  things  are  brought  to  a 
level  at  last." 

"  I  have  another  trouble  at  heart,"  said 
Regnard,  after  a  short  silence.  "  My  young 
friend  there  will  pardon  me,  if  I  should  hap- 
pen to  touch  upon  a  disagreeable  matter. 
Does  any  one  know  what  has  become  of 
AUsette  7" 


EIGHTEEN  HIJNDREt)  AND  TWELVE  ,  OR, 


Jaromir^a  look  fell  gloomily  to  the  ground ; 
with  a  shudder  he  wrapped  himself  closer  in 
his  cloak.  * 

"  After  a  certain  occurrence  in  Moscow,  I 
separated  myself  from  her,"  said  Regnard, 
who,  of  the  same  creed  with  most  military 
men,  regarded  his  immoral  connexion  with 
the  girl  as  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference. 
*'  I  knew  very  well  that  she  was  thoughtless 
find  volatile,  but  I  did  not  want  to  know  it  in 
that  chape.  I  still  take  an  interest  in  her 
fate,  ana  a  deep  one  in  that  of  the  child ;  for 
I  am  its  father.  I  procured  horses  and  a 
wagon  for  her  in  Moscow,  and  left  her  a 
liberal  sum  Tor  travelling  expenses.  But  now 
all  this  will  be  insufficient.  I  have  not  had 
a  sight  of  her  since  the  first  day  of  our  de- 
parture. It  may  go  hard  with  her  in  the  end. 
While  in  my  captivity  over  there,  1  had 
fnough  of  my  own  thoughts  about  it — 
thoughts  too  easily  forgotten  when  the  hour 
of  trial  comes  upon  as.  It  is  my  earnest 
purpose  to  take  care  of  her  and  the  child  ;  for 
it  was  I  who  induced  her  to  follow  into  Rus- 
sia. You,  my  friend,  I  doubt  not,  will  afford 
me  your  assistance  in  carrying  this  into  ef- 
fect ?" 

Boleslaus,  painfully  embarrassed,  kept  si- 
lence ;  fur  he  felt  keenly  how  shocked  Jaro- 
mir,  would  be  on  learning  the  truth  of  the 
Case  :  but  the  child  was  alive — even  close  by  ; 
and  of  this  the  father  must  be  told,  as  he 
wished  to  take  care  of  it.  It  was,  therefore, 
a  very  welcome  circumstance  to  liim,  when 
Jaromir  arose,  too  powerfully  excited  by  the 
Recollections  awakened  by  the  conversation 
}ie  had  just  overheard,  and  with  hasty  strides 
left  the  spot. 

"  Hem !  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Regnard, 
conjecturing  the  cause  ;  "  but  I  cannot  un- 
derstand why  the  man  should  be  so  sensi- 
'tive." 

^  Let  us  be  thankful.  Colonel,  that  we  are 
alone,"  replied  Boleslaus.  "  1  can  give  you 
information  about  that  unhappy  woman." 

He  then  recounted  the  occurrences  of 
which  he  that  morning  had  been  a  witness, 
and  which  now  first  filled  his  soul  with  hor- 
ror, at  this  dereliction  from  nature,  bordering 
on  insanity,  since  he  knew  that  Alisette  was 
really  the  mother  of  the  innocent.  Nothing 
but  the  distracted  torpor  into  which  the  sur- 
rounding dreadful  wretchedness  might  throw 
a  mind  unaccustomed  to  look  to  anything 
higher  than  an  animal  existence,  could  fur- 
nish him  with  the  least  explanation  of  so 
abandoned  a  state  of  the  heart. 

"  What  wickedness  !"  cried  Regnard,  as 
he  learned  the  facts.  "  But  where  is  the 
child  ? — Is  it  saved  ? — Tell  me  everything." 

♦'  It  is  probably  only  a  few  steps  from  here, 
lying  in  sweet  slumber,"  said  Boleslaus ;  "  I 
will  lead  you  to  it." 


They  went  together  to  the  bivooac  of  the 
wounded  chasseur,  who  shared  his  attentions 
to  the  child  wiih  a  sick  woman,  the  widow  ot 
a  drummer.  The  old  soldier  rose  respectfully 
on  Regnard 's  approach. 

"  Comrade  !"  said  the  latter,  much  excited, 
"  1  owe  thee  more  than  my  life,  fur  thou  bast 
saved  my  child  I" 

"  The  mother  would  not  have  done  so  much 
for  it,"  answered  the  chasseur ;  '^  but  it  is  now 
comfortable  enough,  sir.  Just  please  to  look 
— there  it  lies  and  sleeps  like  a  priticess  !" 

The  child  was  packed  around  with  hay,  in 
a  kind  of  basket,  and  covered  with  a  light 
cloth.  The  widow  of  the  drummer,  who  had 
been  killed  at  Viazma,  sat  by  its  side,  tend* 
ingit. 

Regnard  looked  upon  his  child  sadly.  He 
lightly  kissed  its  brow,  taking  care  not  to 
wake  it.  He  then  turned  round  to  the  old 
yager  and  the  widow  : 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  "  if  (iod  should  sec 
fit  that  we  regain  France,  I  will  reward  yoa 
according  to  my  ability.  At  present  I  am  as 
poor  and  destitute  as  yourselves,  for  I  am  just 
fresh  from  a  Russian  stripping.  Be  faithful 
to  me.  We  will  divide  our  cares  and  joys  for 
the  little  angel  between  us.  For  the  moment, 
I  have  nothing  else  to  offer  you  but  this  shake 
of  the  hand  !" 

"And  truly,  that  is  the  best,  after  all,  cap- 
tain," cried  the  chasseur,  giving  him  a  close 
grip  in  return.  "  A  hand  en  which  we  may 
rely  is  better  than  heaps  of  guld.  if  I  should 
stick  fast  in  the  snow,  you'll  draw  me  out, 
ril  be  bound.  During  these  last  few  days,  I 
know  of  many  a  one  who  would  still  be  march- 
ing with  us,  if  his  comrade  had  not  been  too 
tired  and  discouraged  just  to  stay  with  him 
three  minutes,  to  help  him  out  of  a  snow-pit, 
into  which  as  boys  they  had  jumped  a  hundred 
times  a  day  and  crawled  out  again,  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  sport.  Yes,  colonel,  on  such  a 
hand  we  may  rely.  But  gdd — that  is  not 
very  current  here.  When,  four  days  ago,  we 
marched  into  Smolensko,  a  soldier  of  the  ar* 
tillery  was  fitting  by  the  ga.te,  on  the  road- 
side, and  had  a  lump  of  pure  silver,  as  big  aa 
a  child's  head,  lying  in  his  lap.  Perhaps  it 
had  been  melted  down  from  one  of  the  saints 
in  the  Muscovite  churches,  and  had  made  the 
journey  in  the  guise  of  a  cannon  ball,  in  some 
limber-box.  Well,  he  offered  to  sell  that 
large  lump  of  fine  silver  for  a  piece  of  bread 
and  a  bottle  of  rum.  But  do  you  suppose 
that  he  gut  rid  of  it  on  these  terms,  though 
thousands  passed  by  him?  Not  he.  He 
was  fortunate,  when  an  Italian  colonel  of* 
fered  him  in  exchange  a  piece  of  bread  as 
large  as  my  hand,  and  a  small  dram  from  his 
hunting-fiask,  altogether  not  worth  nwre  than 
two  sous.  Yes,  my  colonel,  that  is  the  war 
things  change;  but  the  heairt  of  a  Frencb 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


HI 


soldier  does  not  change.  That  is  my  cpin- 
iofi,  col  .nel.  Done  I— I  strike  the  bargain  ! 
Hand  for  hand  !  Aly  wounds,  I  think,  will 
Boon  be  better,  and  then  perhaps  we  can  help 
one  aiiotlier." 

The  old  man  would  gladly  have  chattered 
another  quarter  of  an  hour,  had  not  Regiiard 
internipied  him,  by  askin^;  him  for  his  name 
and  tht'  regiment  lie  belonged  to  ;  for  the  fa- 
cings and  other  marks  on  his  uniform  were 
already  torn  and  defaced. 

"  And  you  tra,vel  in  the  same  wagon  with 
that  g  'od  woman  ?"  he  added. 

"  Certainly,  as  long  as  our  horses  are  able 
to  dra^  us  along ;  but  if  the  forage  is  no  bet- 
ter than  it  is  atout  here,  it  will  not  be  a  great 
while  before  they  give  in." 

"  And  what  is  your  name  ?"         " '  ■""''' 

"Jacques  Desire  Pailier,  mon  capitaine! 
and  this  woman  is  the  widow  Rene." 

"  Very  well,  Pailier  and  Madame  Rene,  we 
■hall  see  each  other  again.  Now,  good  night, 
and  sec  that  you  keep  my  little  daughter  snug 
and  warm." 

They  then  returned  to  their  bivouac, 
where  fatigue  soon  plunged  all  into  forgetlul- 
oess. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

A  PALE  moonlight  penetrated  the  grey 
clouds — the  wind  moaned  with  hollow  mur- 
mur over  the  snow-tields,  when  the  soldiers 
again  broke  up  their  night  lodgings.  No 
sound  rf  drum  announced  their  departure. 
They  prepared  themselves  in  the  deepest  si- 
lence lor  their  dreary  march.  Marshal  Ney 
had  cansed  Regnard  to  be  supplied  with  a 
horse,  and  retained  him  at  his  side  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  aid.  Rasinski  marched,  riding  at 
the  head  of  his  men,  in  close  order,  as  if  ex- 
pecting the  enemy  in  front. 

For  several  successive  hours  they  strug- 
gled on,  amid  the  usual  difficulties  and  dan- 
gers, without  meeting  with  the  least  nftilesta- 
tion.  For  the  latt  few  days  the  cold  had 
somewhat  abated,  so  that  their  sufferings 
were  not  so  severe  from  that  cause  as  they 
had  been  :  the  weather  even  had  the  appear- 
ance of  changing  into  a  thaw.  The  sky  was 
lightly  overcast,  but  another  fall  of  snow  was 
not  to  be  apprehended.  The  sun  now  began 
to  purple  the  clouds  in  the  rear  of  the  army, 
and  an  incipient  dawn  spread  itself  over  the 
dead  <:iud  sterile  landscape.  They  had  for 
some  time  been  accustomed  to  find  on  their 
inarch,  in  every  hollow  and  gully,  arms,  knap- 
sadtile.",  helmets,  muskets — even  cannon  and 
tumbrils,  with  soldiers,  who  tiad  perished  irooi 


hunger  or  exhaustion.  But  nere  these  mark? 
of  dissolution  increased  to  such  a  degree  as 
to  arouse  the  apprehensions  of  even  the  bra- 
vest. However  dreary  the  night  had  been» 
with  its  mys^tical  veil  hiding  many  horrors 
from  sight,  the  day,  in  lifting  this  veil,  became 
far  more  appalling. 

Suddenly,  the  heavens  were  darkened  by 
clouds  in  the  east,  and  the  sun,  emerging 
from  beneath  the  line  of  the  horizon,  «liot 
forth  menacing,  and  throwing  his  beams 
like  a  river  of  blood,  iu  its  length  across  the 
snow-white  wintry  desert.  The  shadows  of 
men  and  animals  stretched  far  away,  like 
lank  spectres,  over  the  glistening  plain  in 
groteir'que  confusion  of  a  thousand  forms. 
Agreeably  surprised,  every  eye  turned  to  the 
orb.  For  more  than  a  week  they  had  seen 
no  trace  of  the  sun.  This  day,  he  once  more 
appeared  ;  but  the  splendid  meteor  which 
otherwise  gladdens  and  invigorates  the  breast 
of  the  most  desponding,  now  excited  only  an 
anxious  shudder ;  for  he  stood  on  the  firma- 
ment resembling  a  fiery  god,  shooiing  forth 
his  scowling  threatenings  from  beneath  his 
brows  of  dark  overhanging  clouds.  It  seemed 
to  have  thrown  back  its  pombre  covering  only 
for  the  purpose  of  casting  a  more  veng^'ful 
look  upon  the  horrors  and  devastations  which 
the  earth  held  up  to  view. 

"  Thus  the  sun  rose  at  Borodino,"  said  Ja- 
romir,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Rasinski.  "  The 
Emperor  called  it  the  sun  of  Austerlitz." 

Rasinski  for  certain  reasons  did  not  wish 
to  enter  upon  such  a  subject,  at  this  time. 

"  I  think  we  shall  have  a  clear  day,  if  ih© 
wind  does  not  shift,"  was  all  be  replied. 

The  friends  were  interrupted  by  an  ouJcry, 
which  broke  out  in  their  front.  In  surprise^ 
Rasinski  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  from 
which  it  proceeded,  and  saw  at  a  glance  the 
cause  of  the  terror  that  had  befallen  the  men. 
They  had  just  reached  the  summit  of  a  small 
acclivity,  and  the  whole  projecting  |^in  la.j 
before  them.  There,  on  the  white  expanse 
of  snow, .as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  la/ 
in  black  contused  masses,  carcasses  of  men 
and  horses,  wrecks  of  broken  guns  and  gun- 
carriages,  wagons,  arms,  fiamp-fumiture,  and 
bai'gage. 

This  was  the  battle-ground  on  which 
Prince  Eugene — attacked  on  every  side — 
had  so  bravely  defended  himself  two  days 
previously. 

Profound  silence  succeeded  iii  the  ranks  of 
the  soldiers.  The  unexpected  sight  had  burst 
upon  them  like  some  monstrous  spectre,  and 
seemed  to  drive  back  the  vital  powers  to  the 
heart  with  a  paralyzing  force.  Hardly  a 
breath  was  to  be  heard,  as  if  no  one  Mt 
emboldened  to  disturb  by  human  sounds  the 
solemn  spectacle  of  this  vast  cemetery,  where 
death  himself  had  become  stark  and  stiff*  in 


i64 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


thn  icy  embrace  of  winter.  Even  Ney  was 
7i8ibly  afiecied,  but  only  for  a  moment.  The 
next,  he  cast  his  eagle  glance  over  the  pros- 
pect,  seeking  for  the  enemy,  and  the  most  ad- 
vantageous position  in  which  to  meet  him. 

"  Soldiers !"  he  cried,  turning  to  the  men 
coming  up  ahd  crowding  in  dense  masses 
around  him  :  "  soldiers  ! — here  our  comrades 
have  celebrated  a  festival  of  glory,  and  hewed 
themselves  a  path  through  the  Midst  of  their 
enemies.  Let  their  example  be  followed  ! 
Perhaps  fortune  may  grant  us  the  achieve- 
ment of  a  similar  feat  even  to-day  !" 

Rasinski  also  maintained  in  his  counte- 
nance that  firm  composure  which  outwardly 
never  forsook  him. 

"  My  friends  !"  he  exhorted  his  men, "  those 
who  lie  here  died  an  honorable  death.  This 
snow  is  crimsoned  with  noble  blood.  It  must 
fire  you  witti  indignation — it  calls  for  re- 
venge !  Think  of  that  when  I  shall  be  able 
to  point  out  to  yon  the  enemy  !" 

Anger  flashed  in  his  eyes  while  he  spoke. 
He  proudly  raised  his  head  erect,  and  un- 
consciously put  his  hand  to  his  sword.  His 
look  pierced  like  a  kindling  tongup  of  light- 
ning the  hearts  of  the  warriors.  Under  such 
a  leader  their  courage  could  never  falter.  By 
his  eye  he,  in  one  moment, broke  the  chilling 
fetters  of  dread  which  had  struck  through 
their  breasts  at  the  sight  of  this  silent  Gol- 
gotha ;  and  again  courage  stretched  her  free 
pinions  in  conquering  strength. 

They  proceeded  onward.  As  they  gradu- 
ally descended  the  gentle  declivity,  they  ap- 
proached nearer  and  nearer  to  the  scene  of 
the  recent  action,  and  finally  wound  their 
way  through  the  very  midst  of  the  de>-oIation. 
The  marshal  was  the  foremost :  with  grave 
calm- .ess  he  examined  the  aspect  of  things. 
The  position  which  the  troops  had  occupied 
in  the  battle  could  be  clearly  distinguished. 

"  Here  stool  the  Fourteenth,"  said  the  hero 
of  this^ainpaign,  pointing  to  a  spot  on  one 
side,  wnere  the  glittering  front-plates  of 
crushed  shakos  still  showed  the  number  of 
that  regiment. 

"  The  Italian  Guard  must  have  fought  in 
that  place,"  rejoined  Rasinski ;  "  fur  there 
lie  their  dead.  But  where  may  their  living 
be  now  ?" 

He  uttered  these  last  words  in  a  subdued 
tone,  as  he  did  not  wish  too  far  to  betray  his 
forebodings.  By  a  glance  directed  to  Reg- 
nard,  he  plainly  intimated  what  he  thought. 

"  Hem  !"  said  the  latter,  "  they  have  at 
least  reached  Krasnoi ;  but  what  may  have 
taken  place  between  sunrise  of  yesterday  and 
the  present  time,  I  can  conjecture  as  little  as 
I  can  where  we  ourselves  shall  be  this  tune 
tivmorrow.  But,  look  here,  I  beg  of  you ! — 
bere  to  the  left !" 

It  appeared  that  they  bad  now  come  to  that 


part  of  the  battle-field  where  the  enemy's  tr* 
tillery  had  made  the  greatest  havoc.  '  Long 
lines  of  dead  bodies  lay  stretched  on  the  snow, 
which  for  a  great  distance,  was  red  fnim 
blood,  now  turned  into  solid  ice.  Never  did 
a  battle-ground  present  a  more  dismal  i>cene ; 
for  the  dead  remained  in  the  same  position 
they  assumed  when  the  breath  left  their 
bodies,  frozen  rigid  as  marble.  Their  fea- 
tures were,  for  the  most  pait,  so  uneluinged, 
that  those  acquainted  with  them  would  easily 
have  recognised  their  friends  and  relatives. 
Still,  the  distorting  impress  of  the  death- 
agony  rested  on  almost  every  face  ; — the 
icy  breath  of  winter  had  forbidden  the  fea> 
tures  to  mould  themselves  into  that  quiet, 
friendly  smile  which  lingers  on  the  counte- 
nance as  the  last  trace  of  the  released  spirit, 
when  its  final  struggle  is  over.  This  was 
not  the  case  here,  it  looked  as  if  the  grim 
touch  of  winter  had  stifTened  the  animated 
form,  and  stamped  its  hard,  ruthless  seal  up- 
on it  earlier  than  death  had  impressed  iiis. 
There  was  therefore  to  be  seen  no  calm  brow, 
no  gently-smiling  lips,  which  might  testify  of 
a  happy  deliverance  from  the  miseries  of 
earth  ;  the  faces  of  all  were  fixed  and  rigid  in 
deeply-chiselled  folds  and  creases,  produced 
by  anguish,  despair,  wrath,  and  pain— as  if 
the  billows  of  the  ocean  had,  on  a  sudden, 
become  congealed  and  transformed  into  stone. 
Ney,  with  all  his  great  self-command,  could 
not  but  feel  in  his  own  breast,  that  this 
mute  wandering  through  the  dreary  domains 
of  death  was  anything  but  calculated  to  en- 
kindle fresh  courage  ;  for,  in  the  unceremtw 
nious  dormitory  of  the  departed  every  one  be- 
held, as  it  were,  in  a  prophetic  mirror,  his  own 
coming  fate.  These  warriors,  covered  with 
the  cicatrices  of  a  hundred  wounds,  had  seen 
death  in  many  appalling  forms,  and  did  not 
greet  him  like  novices.  But  the  fallen  ones 
had  hitherto  reposed  on  the  field  of  victory — 
ihe  laurel  had  entwined  their  brow — to  lull 
was  to  triumph  !  But  here — what  destiny 
were  the  survivors  to  achieve  but  renewed 
sufierings  and  conflicts  ?  And  what  was  the 
lot  of  the  dead  left  behind  on  the  hostile 
soil — whom  no  friendly  hand  would  provide 
with  burial— whose  graves  no  monument 
would  adorn — whose  bodies  were  the  des- 
tined prey  of  the  unclean  birds  of  this  dreary 
clime,  and  the  hungry  wolves  of  these  awful 
deserts ! 

The  army,  marching  rapidly  onward,  now 
reached  a  deep  gully,  into  w  hich  the  road 
descends,  afterwards  to  rise  equally  abrupt 
into  the  broad  table-lands  of  Katowa. 

"  Dost  thou  recofjnise  the  country  about 
bere  ?"  inquired  Ratinski,  turning  to  Jaromir. 

The  latter  looked  attentively  a&)ut  him,uud 
then  answered : 

"  Unless  I  am  deceived  by  the  snow,  I 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


365 


think  this  is  the  place  where,  three  months 
ago,  we  beat  Newerowskov,  and  t ben,  with  the 
captured  (;uns,  fired  a  salute  in  lienor  of  the 
Emperor's  birth-day." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Regnard.  "  You 
have  a  good  military  eve,  my  young  friend. 
What  do  you  think,  shall  we  lire  a  salute  for 
a  victory  to-day  also  ?" 

Jaroinir  was  on  the  point  of  answering, 
when  the  report  of  a  dull,  but  not  distant  fieid- 

?iece  broke  the  profound  stillness  around, 
'his  signal  of  the  enemy's  proximity  sped 
through  every  heart  like  an  electric  shock. 
The  practised  ears  of  the  soldiers  enabled 
them  at  once  to  estimate  the  distance  from 
which  the  gun  was  fired,  and  their  eyes  were 
turned  in  the  direction  from  whence  it  Wfts 
heard.  The  keenest  anxiety  was  legible  in 
every  countenance,  to  learn  whether  the  shot 
would  be  repeated — whether  it  was  the  com- 
mencement of  an  engagement,  or  merely 
meant  for  a  signal,  or  peradventure,  acciden- 
tal. The  Marshal  ordered  a  halt.  He  hesi- 
tated to  lead  his  people,  just  at  this  moment, 
down  into  the  hollow,  as  it  required  the  great- 
est effort  of  the  exhausted  powers  of  both 
men  and  horses  to  climb  the  ice-covereu 
height  on  the  other  side.  Rasinski  was  or- 
dered to  advance  with  his  feeble  troop,  and 
to  reconnoitre  en  the  heights  of  Katowa 
whether  the  enemy  were  in  the  vicinity  :  the 
rest  of  the  army  in  the  meantime  went  into 
camp,  in  order  to  gather  strength  to  raeet  any 
emergency. 

Racinski  soon  reached  the  level  heights  of 
Katowa,  but  in  vain  his  eye  sought  for  the 
enemy.  He  could  discover  nothing-  but  the 
monotonous  and  extended  lines  of  the  d«rk 
forests  of  firs,  which  stretched  along  the  ho- 
rizon in  interminable  distance.  A  dreary 
silence  reigne'd  every  where.  For  half  an 
hour  he  cautiously  rode  along  the  great  road, 
divided  his  men,  and  ordered  Jaromir,  with 
the  one-half,  to  reconnoitre  to  the  right  to  the 
distance  of  a  cannon-shot,  whilst  he  would 
examine  the  left  himself.  In  his  ride  he 
came  nearer  to  the  verge  of  the  forest.  There 
he  saw  tracks  of  hoofs  in  the  snow,  which 
became  more  numerous  as  he  advanced. 
This  convinced  him  that  the  enemy  must  be 
in  the  vicinity,  for  some  of  the  tracks  were 
quite  fresh.  He  fixed  his  searching  glance 
on  the  skirts  of  the  forest  which  seemed  to 
hide  the  real  danger.  Frequently  he  com- 
manded a  halt,  so  as  to  be  able  to  listen  ;  but 
everything  was  silent  and  still.  Siiddenly 
a  flock  of  crows  appeared  over  the  woods 
and  flew,  hoarsely  cawing,  across  the  road. 

"  These  birds  have  been  scared  away/' 
said  Rasinski  to  his  men ;  "  there  are  people 
in  tho-se  woods." 

"  A  fact,  Colonel !"  hastily  cried  the  smart 
Bliski,  stooping  down,  and  trying  to  pene- 


trate with  his  eyes  between  the  trunks  of  the 
tiees ;  "  indeed,  there  are  men  marching." 

They  were  just  then  at  a  point  which 
admiited  a  view  into  the  interior  of  the  forest ; 
atid,  as  Rasinski  stooped  to  the  saddle-bow, 
he  saw  a  black  column  defiling  acro^^s  the 
opening  in  the  woods,  as  if  inarching  on  a 
wide  road  through  the  heart  of  the  forest. 
He  quickly  dismounted,  and  sufl!*ering  his 
companions  to  ride  on,  that  they  might  not  be 
seen  through  the  aperture  in  the  forest,  he 
threw  hitnself  on  the  snow,  to  observe  the 
movempnls  of  the  enemy.  It  took  the  co- 
lumn, which  was  infantry, some  time  to  march 
by  ;  but,  as  he  could  not  overlook  the  hollow, 
it  was  impossible  to  estimate  their  numbers. 
Now,  however^  followed  artillery,  and  Rasin- 
ski could  distinctly  count  the  guns.  Having 
counted  up  to  thirty,  he  was  satisfied  that 
these  troops  in  strength  by  far  overmatched 
those  under  the  French  Marshal's  command. 
He  sprang  again  to  his  saddle,  and  made  all 
speed  to  report  what  he  had  seen. 

Jarohoir  had  already  rejoined  the  corps, 
without  having  discovered  trace  of  the  enemy. 
The  men  had,  in  the  meantime,  as  some  low 
firs  were  close  by,  cut  ihem  down  and  kindled 
a  fire,  and  the  marshal  ordered  them  to  warm 
and  refresh  themselves  as  much  as  possible 
for  the  moment,  that  they  might  be  in  condi- 
tion successfully  to  repel  an  attack. 

Rasinski's  report  at  once  showed  the  des- 
perate situation  in  which  the  troops  were 
now  placed. 

"The  Russians  undoubtedly  occupy  the 
woods  on  the  heights  of  Katowa,"  said  the 
marshal, "  and  only  wait  for  our  appearance, 
to  attack  us  from  every  quarter,  and  then  cut 
off  our  retreat,  by  fortifying  the  ravine  be- 
fore IIS.  We  must  open  a  path  for  ourselves 
right  through  the  mid^t  of  them ;  but  we 
mu^t  delay  the  encounter  a  few  hours  longer, 
so  as  to  have  the  night  in  our  favor.  What 
o'ch»ck  is  it  ?" 

"  H«ilf-past  one,"  answered  Rasinski. 

"  Very  well ;  at  four  o'clock  it  will  be  per- 
fectly dnrk.  We  will  break  up  at  that  hour. 
Until  then,  we  can  rest  and  collect  our 
strength." 

Radnski  rode  back  to  his  men.  Jaromir 
caused  the  horses  to  be  fed.  as,  fortunately, 
they  had  still  a  small  quantity  of  oais  and 
hay  ;  and  the  men  were  soon  busied  in  pre- 
paring their  spare  meal.  Thus  an  hourpasscd 
away  in  tumultuous  anxiety. 


S)6G> 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


CHAPTER  LXXX.     , 

"Rasinski  !" suddenly  exclaimed  Jaromir, 
•*  do  Jou  see  yonder  on  ihe  rising  ground  ?" 
■  "Cossacks! — and  1  wager  my  head  they 
are  not  ulonb  !"  replied  Rasineki. 

U|X)n  the  heights  appeared  tiiree  hor.-'e- 
inen,  seeniingly  thrown  lorward  to  recon- 
noitre. They  were  soon  remarked  by  all ; 
and  then  occurred  in  the  French  ranks  that 
restless  stir  and  low  murmur,  betokening  the 
expectation  of  an  important  event. 

"  Jump  on  your  horse,  Jaromir,"  said  Ra- 
sinski,  "  and  ride  to  the  corner  of  the  forest; 
thence  you  will  see  far  over  the  country." 

Jaromir,  now  the  best  mounted  in  the  re- 
giment, sped  swiftly  across  the  snow,  in  obe- 
dience to  the  order.  But  he  returned  even 
more  rapidly,  to  announce  that  the  \entire 
heights  were  covered  with  Cossacks,  and 
that  infantry  columns  were  debouching  from 
the  depths  of  the  forest. 

Just  then,  (Colonel  Regnard,  who,  by  the 
marshal's  order  had  also  been  out  to%econ- 
noitre,  rode  by. 

"  This  looks  like  work,  Rasinski !"  he  cried, 
in  passing  ;  "  the  ball  opens  just  like  the  day 
before  yesterday.  The  wood  is  as  full  of 
Russians  as  an  ant-hill  of  ants." 

The  drums  beat.  The  troops  stood  to  their 
arms.  The  disordered  groups  of  weaponless 
stragglers  and  invalids  formed  themselves 
into  a  dense  mass. 

"  For  us  the  fight  is  a  pleasure,"  exclaimed 
Rasinski ;  "  but  it  is  hard  upon  Boleslaas  and 
tlie  othi^r  wounded.  We  must  do  our  best  to 
shield  I  hem  from  liarm.  But  who  comes  here?" 
A  Russian  officer  was  seen  descending  the 
hill,  waving  a  white  handkerchief. 

"  Useless  trouble,  sir,"  said  Rasinski, 
proudly  to  himself,  as  he  distinguished  the 
Russian's  object.  '*  We  sliall  not  treat  for 
peace  so  long  as  we  can  handle  our  arms." 

The  marshal  was  busy  placing  and  order- 
ing his  troops.  He  galloped  through  the 
ranks,  showing  himself  everywhere,  direct- 
ing and  encouraging  all.  Rasinski  sent  an 
orderly  to  report  to  him  the  approach  of  a 
flag  of  truce  ;  but  before  the  message  reached 
bim,  the  Russian  officer  reached  the  outposts, 
and,  on  distinguitihing  the  Polish  uniform, 
fiuroinoned  them  in  their  own  language  to 
surrender  to  overpowering  forres.  Rasinski 
sprang  forward  like  an  incensed  lion. 

"  What !"  he  shouted,  "  you  would  seduce 
our  men — incite  them  to  desert  !  That  is 
not  the  duty  of  a  flag  of  truce.  You  are  my 
prisoner!" 

The  alarmed  officer  would  have  turned  his 
horse,  but  Rasinski  already  held  the  bridle, 
and  his  soldiers  surrounded  the  Russian  so 
quickly  that  resistance  and  flight  were  alike 
impossible. 


"^  You  will  surely  respect  the  sacred  rights, 
of  a  flag  of  truce !"  cried  the  Russian. 

"  You  should  have  waited  at  proper  dig- 
tance,  till  you  knew  if  it  pleased  us  to  receive 
you,"  replied  Rasinski.  ''  It  is  vgiiinst  all 
uttages  of  war  to  approach  an  enemy's  army 
as  you  have  done." 

"  Take  me"  to  your  commander,"  said  the 
officer  ;  "  he  will  listen  to  my  well-intended 
ofiers.  The  brave-'^t  must  yield  io  neces- 
sity. You  have  no  alternative  but  capitu- 
lation." 

"  We  shall  see  that,"  answered  Rasinski* 
well  assured  beforehand  of  the  marshal's  de- 
cision. "  Here  comes  our  commander.  Mar- 
shal Ney.  That  name  may  suflice  to  con- 
vince you  that  you  will  waste  your  words." 

The  marshal  came.  Rasinski  rode  to  meek 
him,  and  reported  what  hud  passed. 

"  You  have  done  your  duty  as  an  nfficez 
and  man  of  honor,"  replied  Ney  ;  "  I  should 
take  shame  to  myself  did  I  hesitate  to  confirm 
your  words."  And  he  rode  forward  and  in- 
quired the  Russian's  pleasure. 

"  Marshal  Kutusow  sends  me,"  began  the 
officer.  "  He  would  not  ofl^nd  so  renowned 
a  warrior  and  genrral  by  asking  him  to  Uy 
down  his  arms  if  any  alternative  remained 
open.  Upon  the  surrounding  heiohts  stand 
eighty  thousand  men,  and  one  hundred  pieces 
of  cannon.  If  you  doubt  my  woids,  ynu  are 
at  liberty  to  send  an  officer,  whom  I  will  con- 
duct throofih  our  ranks,  that  he  may  count 
our  strength." 

"  I  hope  to  get  near  enough  to  your  army 
to  count  them  myself,"  replied  the  marshal, 
with  flashing  eye.  "Tell  Prince  Kutusow 
thiu  Marshal  Ney  has  never  yet  surrendered* 
and  that  the  world's  history  shall  never  re- 
cord his  having  done  so.  Yonder  is  the  goal 
which  duty  and  honor  assign  me;  I  will 
break  a  road  through  your  ranks,  though 
your  forests  became  armies." 

'*  They  will  do  so,"  replied  the  Russian. 
The  words  had  scarce  left  his  lips,  when  the 
thunder  of  artillerv  echoed  from  the  heights 
in  front  and  on  the  left  flank,  and  an  iron 
bail  crashed  and  rattled  upon  the  icy  sorfaco 
of  the  plain. 

«  This  is  treachery !"  cried  the  marshal, 
sternly,  as  be  looked  up  and  beheld  the  hills 
crowned  on  all  sides  with  levelled  guns  and 
dark  masses  of  troops.  "  There  is  no  parley- 
ing under  fire !     You  are  my  prisitner  !" 

The  officer,  confounded  at  being  thus 
sacrificed  by  the  imprudence  or  recklessness 
of  his  friends,  gave  up  his  sword. 

"  Take  him  to  the  rear !"  commanded  the 
marshal.  "  General  Ricard,  forward  !  At- 
tack the  enemy  with  the  bayonet.  Yoa  shall 
have  the  honor  of  opening  the  road  !" 

The  general,  at  the  head  of  fifteen  hundred 
1  moo,  pressed  resolutely  forward. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


m 


This  little  band  was  almost  lost  to  sight 
on  the  immense  ppace  that  lay  before  them ; 
H  seemed  nothing  short  of  madness  to  un- 
dertake to  advance  against  the  compact 
masses  of  the  enemy,  wiiich,  like  threatening 
thunder-clouds,  came  rollmg  up  blacker  and 
denser  over  the  hills.  But  the  marshal  h:id 
ordered  it,  and  the  soldiers  placed  in  him  un- 
limited confidence.  They  rushed,  therefore, 
unhesitatiiigly  down  the  steep  declivity  into 
the  ravine — thence  to  storm  the  opposite 
hei(ihts. 

The  marshal,  in  the  mean  time,  flies  through 
the  ranks,  arranging  them  for  the  conflict. 
Regnard  galloped  up  to  Kasin8ki,and  brought 
hiai  the  order  to  cover  wiih  his  regiment,  now 
reduced  to  sixty  combatants,  the  left  wing 
from  the  attack  of  the  Cossacks.  The  ar- 
tillery showed  front  against  the  enemy,  and 
with  its  six  small  pieces  undertook  to  defend 
itself  against  the  overwhelming  batteries  of 
the  Kussians. 

The  enemy's  first  volley  was  followed  by 
a  silence  like  that  preceding  an  outburst  of 
thunder.  Soon  on  the  snow-covered  plain 
crowds  of  men  and  horses  sprang  up  far  and 
wide,  as  though,  like  the  soldiers  of  Cadmus, 
they  started  out  of  the  ground. 

Rasinski  took  up  his  position  a  few  hun- 
dred steps  to  the  left  of  the  road,  by  a  snow- 
covered  hill,  which  half-sheltered  him  from 
the  fire   of  the  enemy's  artillery,  but  from 
whence  he  still  had  a  view  over  the  whole 
battle-ground.     Uis  deportment  was  grave, 
as  it  always  was  in  battle,  but,  collected  and 
full  of  confidence,  as    when,  three  months 
earlier,  at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  he  broke 
in  upon  the  hostile  ranks.     Putting  himself  at 
the  head  of  his  men,  General  Ricard  forced 
his  way  through  the  ravine,  and  proceeded  at 
quick   liiiie,  and  with  charged  bayonets,  to 
Btor;n  the  Russian  batteries  on  the  heights  of 
Kaiowa.    A  stream  of  fire  encircled  the  hori- 
zon ;  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  columns  of 
smoke  curled  up  from  the  hills,  as  if  the  earth 
had  burst  into  a  hundred  volcanos.  .A  deafen- 
ing cra^h  rent  the  atmosphere — solid  ground 
bhtiok  visibly,  and  a  shower  of  cannon-balls 
and  round  shot  came  whizzing  through  the  air 
like  a  storm  of  gigantic  hail.  They  rattled  and 
tore  among  the  ice-cakes  and  snow  which 
covered  the  field,  making  them  whirl  and  scat- 
ter in  a  thousand  flittering  fragments.     One 
glance  at  Ricard's  brave  fellows  was  enough  to 
break  the  heart,  for  in  that  single  moment  one 
half  of  them  were  dashed  to  the  ground.  The 
Blill  closed  ranks  were  thinned  out  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  survivors  stoodjike  the  trees 
of  a  well-felled  forest.     Their  leader,  how- 
ever, had  not  fallen  ;  his  voice  called  together 
those  that  were  spared,  a;nd  again  they  rushed 
tip  the  heights  vomiting  forth  fire  and  death. 
A  secood  discharge  from  the  batteries,  like  a 


raging  surge  of  the  sea,  again  swept  throngh 
their  ranks.  Only  a  few  are  left  standing; 
and  that  few,  finding  it  im(>o8sible  to  conquef, 
rush  back  for  safety  to  the  ranks  of  theii* 
comrades. 

But  Marshal  Ney,  at  the  head  of  the  main 
body,  is  already  in  full  march  on  the  enemy. 
In  a  compact  phalanx,  tike  a  waving  wall, 
this  cloud  of  heroes — the  "  bravest  of  the 
brave"  at  their  head,  filled  with  sorrow  for  the 
destruction  of  their  brothers,  and  resolved  to 
sacrifice  the  last  drop  of  their  hearts-blood 
for  revenge — advance  upcm  the  murderous 
batteries.  The  enemy  also  catches  the  spirit 
of  this  formidable  attack.  Their  front  line,  at 
least  three  times  superior  in  numbers — in  ex- 
cellent condition,  and  composed  of  strong, 
able-bodied  men,  not  at  all  exhausted  by  hard- 
ship— march  against  the  venturous  assailants, 
in  proud  anticipation  of  outflanking  and  de- 
stroying them  all. 

The  nioment  has  arrived  for  Rasinski  to 
act.    With  his  small  troop  he  rashes  through 
the  hollow,  up  the  hill  to  the  left,  and  throws 
himself  on  the  enemy's  right  flank.     A  sim- 
ultaneous  movement  is  made   against  the 
left,  by  a  few  hundred  Illyrian  li<rht-horse — 
consternation  seizes  the  enemy  at  seeing  this. 
Perceiving  that  his  antagonist  considers  vic- 
tory as  sure,  he  begins  himself  to  consider  it 
possible.     The  daring  confidence  of  the  as- 
sailants weakens  his  reliance  on  himself;  he 
haltSf  he  waivers.    Then  Ney  dasht-s  upon 
the  oscillating  lines  with  his  exasperated  sol- 
diers, throws  them  into  disorder,  breaks  them, 
and  chases  them  before  him  as  a  mountain 
torrent  overflowing  its  banks.    Triumphantly 
he  rushes  forward  on  the  accnstomed  patli  of 
victory.     But,  alas !    here  the  treacherous 
goddess  abandons  him  !     For  already  a  sec- 
ond host,  like  the  many-headed  hydra,  springs 
up  as  if  out  of  the  ground,  and  out  of  a 
thousand  murderous  tubes  darts  its  flaming 
tongues  of  fire  against  him.     The  groatid 
seems  to  open — the  firmament  to  be  torn  into 
shreds  with  the  concus-sion.      All  stagger 
but  Ney,  who  stands  firm  in  the  midst  of  the 
hurricane.      His  generals  lie   wounded  and 
prostrate  around  liim   the  snow  crimsoned 
with  their  blood  ;  his  troops  are  terribly  thin- 
ned— the  ground  h   black   with  the  fallen. 
Once  more  he  cries :  "  Forward !"  endeavor- 
ing to  collect  the  fragments  of  his  force;  A 
further  discharge  scatters  yet  more  destruc- 
tion among  the  broken  ranks.     Now  the  in- 
visible  spirit  of  a  panic  terror  seizes  upon  thd 
remainder — they  disperse  and  fly  on  every 
side.     Rabinski's  brave  men  are  (he  last  that 
take  to  flight ;  he  conducts  the  retreat  himself, ' 
for  with  him  rest  the  sole  means  of  preserva- 
tion. 

Kutii?ow,  however,  did  not  by  pursuit  ren- 
ture  to  further  molest  these  warriors.  lie  pre- 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


ferred  senaing  destraction  among  them  from 
a  distance,  while  his  men  gather  together  and 
are  again  formed  in  some  order.   Tne  marshal 
examines  the  battle-ground;  his  countenance 
.  is  stern,  the  brow  strongly  knit,  but  still  bold 
and  determined.     The  eyes  of  his  men  are 
riveted  on  his  features,  for  from  them  alone 
they  will  adopt  the  conviction,  that  all  hojse  of 
deliverance  is  at  an  end.    As  long  as  his  lips 
do  nut  announce  the  fact,  they  look  forward 
to  a  happy  issue.     They  perceive  from  his 
deep  thoughtful ness  that  he  is  meditating 
some  feint.    With  a  vigilant  eye  he  observes 
the  enemy  and  his  movements  ;  now  and  then 
only  be  casts  a  mournful  look  to  the  spot  where, 
for  a  few  minutes,  he  bad  purchased  a  tran> 
fiient  success  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  lives  of  so 
many  soldiers.    The  murderous  firing  still 
continues,  and  the  space    occupied  by  the 
little  army  is  so  confined  that  the  enemy's 
balls  cross  it  everywhere.    The  very  same 
shots  which  penetrate  the  ranks  burst  into 
the  wagons  drawn  up  in  a  body  behind,  con- 
taining the  wounded,  the  sick,  the  women 
and  children,  which,  in  helpless  weakness,  are 
thus  given  up  a  prev  to  destraction.     What 
arm  now  to  save  ?  Night  throws  her  veil  at 
length  over  them,  and  shrouds  the  distressed 
within  her  shadowy  canopy.     The  marshal 
really  seems  to  have  found  a  door  of  egress 
from  this  circle  of  death.  He  measures  with 
his  eye  the  distance  and  position  of  the  ene- 
my; he  directs  his  looks  to  either  side — be- 
hind, and  at  all  points  ;  it  is  evident  that  he 
regards  the  localities  among  which  he  is 
placed  for  some  new  purpose,  and  forms  plans 
by  which  to  draw  from  them  new  advantages. 
His  conceptions  are  matured ;  he  has  called 
no  council  of  war;  he  has  conferre«i  with  no 
one,  but  follows  the  dictates  of  his  own  intre- 
pidity and  knowledge.    He  beckons  to  Reg- 
nard,  Rasinski,  and  the  other  officers,  and  to 
each  he  imparts  his  orders.    They  hasten  to 
their  respective  troops.  "  Fall  in  !  fall  in  !"  is 
heard  everywhere,  and  the  artillery  bef^ins  to 
move  at  every  point.    But  whereunto  ? — to- 
wards the  enemy  ?    No  !  they  turn  their  faces 
again  to  the  snow-wastes  of  Russia  !     The 
enemy,  from  his  elevation,  looks  with  amaze- 
ment upon  this  demonstration;   he  appears  to 
surmise  some  such  stratagem  as  that  which 
two  days  before  had   been   played  by  the 
Viceroy  of  Italy.     Kutusow,  consequently, 
extends  his  flanks,  and  thus  prolongs  the  net 
in  which  he  hopes  to  ensnare  the  lion.     He 
has  the  ptjwer  to  annihilate  him,  for  with  one 
charge  he  might  utterly  overwhelm  this  small 
band.     But  it  seems  that  the  cool-headed  old 
man  put  a  far  higher  value  upon  the  exploit 
of  bringing  them  prisoners  into  Russia,  than 
sweeping  them  out  of  existence.    That  there 
existed  the  least  possible  chance  of  their  es- 
caping this  captivity,  seemed  to  the  old  Rus- 


sian to  belong  to  the  province  of  dmuria  and 
miracles.  He  now  possessed  the  power  to 
destroy  the  most  redoubtable  soldier  of  France; 
but  that  was  not  sufficient  for  his  ambition. 
He  wished  to  humble  him  by  presenting,  not 
his  head,  but  his  sword,  to  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander. 

The  French  soldiers  received  the  com- 
jTtand  of  their  chief  with  shuddering  surprise. 
"  How  !"  they  asked  each  other,"  march  back 
into  the  horrid  land  out  of  which  we  have 
but  just  escaped! — turn  our  back  on  our 
homes !"  Every  retrograde  step  was  taken 
with  a  secret  dread ;  but  still  they  obeyed, 
for  their  commander  bad  ordered  it,  and  their 
only  confidence  was  in  him. 

The  night  seemed  to  quicken  the  motion 
of  her  darkening  wings,  and  sunk  deeper  and 
denser  upon  the  cold  expanse  of  snow.  The 
heights  which  were  alive  with  enemies,  were 
already  lost  in  the  indistinctness  of  twilight, 
and  only  singly  and  far  between  came  the 
ponderous  balls  in  their  retreating  rear. 

In  profound  silence,  with  weary  feet,  and 
with  corroding  Korrow  at  heart,  the  soldiers 
waded   on   through   the   deep,   loose   snuw, 
since  the  marshal  diverged  to  the  right  from 
the  main  road,  towards  the  woods.     But  the 
measure  of  their  calamities  was  not  yet  fill- 
ed ;  for  by  degrees,  beginning  with  a  hollow 
murmur,  the  storm-spirit  began  to  let  himself 
be   heard,   rushing  closer  and  closer  upon 
them  ;  but  at  this  time  it  was  not  the  freez- 
ing breath  of  Boreas,  but  a  humid  south- 
wester,  driving  clouds  of  si^ow  before  it  on 
the  highway  of  heaven,  and  lifting  entire 
drifts  from  the  ground  in  bewildering  com- 
motion.   This  furious  whirlwind  enveloped 
the  unfortunate  wayfarers,  depriving  them 
of  respiration.     Horse  and  rider  gasped  for 
breath  ;  their  last  remaining  strength  threat- 
ened to  give  way.     The  storm  careered  with 
shrill  bowlings  over  the  plains;  now  it  be- 
came entangled  in  the  cavities  and  hollows ; 
now  it  broke  itself  against  the  sturdy  forests, 
rebounding  in  intersecting  evolutions,  so  that 
turn  which  way  they  would  it  drove  its  bitter 
blast  right  into  the  faces  of  the  exhausted 
men  and  animals.    The  line  of  march  be- 
came uncertain   and  wavering ;  it  swayed 
now   to  the  right,  now  to  the   left,     ^fow 
some  deep  hollow  filled  with  drifed  snow 
blocked  up  the  way,  and  il|became  necessary 
to  retrace  their  weary  steps  considerable  dis- 
tances, not  knowing  whether  they  wert»  go- 
ing from  the  enemy  or  ri^ht  upon  him.    Then 
again,  sudden  and  abrupt  declivities,  plazed 
with  ice,  compelled  them  to  .seek  a  different 
direction.     The  night  became  very  dark ;  a 
black,  heavy  canopy  of  cloud,  out  of  which 
the  snow  came  pouring  down,  had  entirely 
covered   the  sky.     Nothing  remained  dis- 
cernible to  the  eye,  but  the  sheen  of  tho 


NAl»OLEOirS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA.    > 


369 


white,  spectral  pall  in  which  this  earth  had 
decked  itself.  At  last  the  physical  powers, 
tpo  sRvereiy  taxed,  became  paralyzed;  the 
etiff  and  benumbed  foot  refused  to  move;  the 
weapon  dropped  from  the  hand.    The  mar- 

thal  even  seemed  to  have  lost  hope,  and  to 
e  ready  to  bow  his  head  before  the  all-sub- 
duing scourge.  A  halt  was  finally  ordered 
in  the  midst  of  the  ice  and  snow,  to  allow,  if 
possible,  the  exhausted  energies  to  recruit 
for  renewed  exertions.  The  marshal  rode 
at  the  bead  of  the  column  in  the  midst  of 
Rasinski's  men — Regnard  by  his  side. 

'*  Do  you  still  know  north  from  south,  Ra- 
sinski  ?"  he  asked,  quite  low — "  whether  the 
enemy  is  in  front  or  in  rear  ?  whether  we 
are  on  the  right  or  left  side  of  the  road  ?  A 
compass  would  be  worth  a  province  now." 

**  Perhaps  some  stars  may  be  seen,  when 
this  drifting  ceases,"  answered  Rasinski ;  "  it 
has  now  lasted  three  hours,  and  must  come 
to  a  pause  some  time." 

"  1  have  no  longer  any  faith  in  the  stars," 
replied  Regnard,  with  a  shake  of  the  bead, 
looking  gloomily  before  him. 

Rasinski  tortured  his  brain  to  hit  upon 
some  means  to  direct  their  march  with  cer- 
tainty. He  had  just  caught  a  happy  idea, 
when  the  marshal  suddenly  accosted  him 
with  the  question :  "  Have  your  men  and 
horses  any  strength  left  them  ? — if  so,  follow 
me.  I  believe  that  I  have  hit  upon  a 
method  to  find  the  way  to  the  Dnieper,  even 
through  this  chaos  of  snow." 

"  1  have  done  the  same !"  exclaimed  Ra- 
sinski eagerly,  wishing  at  least  to  secure  his 
share  of  the  honor  of  falling  upon  a  similar 
discovery.  "  If  we  could  only  ascertain  the 
course  of  the  brook,  which  must  run  through 
the  hollow  where  we  were  obliged  to  turn 
back  half-an-hour  ago  ?" 

"  We  understand  each  other,"  answered 
the  marshal,  with  joy ;  "  that  is  exactly  my 
thought.  We  will  try  to  find  that  spot  once 
more ;  you  shall  accompany  me  with  your 
men  and  some  sappers." 

They  mounted  instantly.  The  tracks  left 
by  the  field-pieces,  which  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  be  snowed  over  or  blown  away, 
afforded  indications  of  the  way  which  the 
army  bad  come.  Rasinski's  keen  sense  of 
observation,  from  which  nothing  escaped  ap- 
pertaining to  localities  or  topography,  and 
who  possessed  the  most  minute  peculiari- 
ties within  a  powerful  memory,  helped 
them  to  decide  at  several  doubtful  place^i. 
In  half-an- hour's  time  they  reached  the  hol- 
low. The  wind  had  there  piled  up  the  snow 
to  more  than  a  man's  heignt.  The  sappers, 
however,  with  gigantic  efforts,  succeeded  in 
dislodging  the  snow,  and  they  soon  penetra- 
ted to  a  solid  mirror  of  ice. 

"  I  hope  the  frost  has  not  congealed  the 


low  water-courses  clear  to  the  bottom,"  said 
the  marshal,  with  much  concern,  while  the 
sappers  were  laboring  to  cut  through  the  ice. 

"  I  do  not  fear  anything  of  that  kind,"  re- 
plied Rasinski ;  "  fur  all  these  little  stream- 
lets run  through  a  warm,  loamy  soil ;  con- 
sequently ihey  freeze  up  entirely  only  in  the 
severest  weather.  There  is  no  doubt  but 
.we  will  yet  find  water,  and  the  more  so,  as 
it  bflgan  to  thaw  yesterday." 

He  had  judged  correctly ;  for  just  then 
the  axe  penetrated  the  ice,  and  water  bub- 
bled up  in  the  aperture.  A  few  more  strokes, 
and  the  opening  was  widened,  so  that  the 
course  of  the  brook  could  be  ascertained. 

In  great  joy  the  marshal  exclaimed :  "  Then 
I  hope  we  are  safe.  This  brook  must  be 
our  guide  to  the  Dneiper,  which  cannot  be 
very  far  off.  Once  over  that  stream,  I  think 
ffe  shall  have  surmounted  the  worst,  and 
soon  be  able  to  rejoin  our  comrades  in 
front." 

The  marshal  immediately  sent  orders  to 
march — the  troops  having  by  this  time  bad  an 
opportunity  in  some  measure  to  rest  from 
their  fatigue.  In  an  hour,  steadily  following 
the  course  of  the  brook,  they  reached  a 
dense  forest.  Here  they  were  sheltered  from 
the  piercing  wind,  and  the  drifting  sleet  and 
•-now  had  also  ceased.  The  leaet  indication 
of  a  favorable  turn  of  fortune  in  such  cir- 
cumstances wonderfully  contributes  to  re- 
vive the  flagging  spirits. 

The  march,  therefore,  proceeded  with 
vigor.  Confidence  was  also  much  strength- 
ened from  the  circumstance  that  Rasinski, 
in  a  half-demolished  hut  of  a  miserable  ham- 
let, found  a  peasant,  old  and  lame,  but  ac- 
quainted with  the  neighboring  localities. 
This  old  man  declared  that  the  'river  was 
quite  near,  but  would  hardly  be  passable,  as 
the  ice  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  resist 
wind  and  thaw.  If  a  passage  were  at  all  pos- 
sible, it  would  be  at  a  single  point,  where 
the  floating  ice  would  crowd  together  from 
being  stopped  by  a  bold  turn  in  the  river,  and 
at  times  formed  a  bridge  tolerably  firm  and 
durable,  even  when  utterly  impassable  higher 
up. 

Rasinski  promised  the  old  man  a  rich  re- 
ward if  he  would  conduct  him  to  this  place  ; 
at  the  same  time  threatening  him  should  be 
prove  treacherous. 

The  old  peasant  replied  :  "  Never  fear  me ; 
I  am  not  from  Old  Russia,  but  belong  farther 
up  there,  where  the  people  are  not  so  much 
against  «ou  as  hereabouts.  If  you  can  only 
cross  the  river,  you  will  find  shelter  and  kinder 
inhabitants  on  the  other  side ;  while  on  this 
side  everything  is  pillaged  and  destroyed. 
Follow  me,  and  be  of  good  cheer ;  you  will 
soon  find  that  I  am  in  the  right." 

He  thus  became  the  guide  of  the  whole 


S1V 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


corps,  and  before  an  hour  had  passed,  brought 
them  safely  to  the  bank  of  a  river  which  was 
destined  to  become  either  tiie  salvation  or 
destruction  of  this  devoted  band  of  brave 


men. 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

The  moon  arose  behind  dark,  heavy  clouds, 
shedding  her  pale  lustre  over  the  landscape, 
when  Kdsinski,  at  whose  side  the  guide 
walked,  emerged  from  the  woods  on  the  top 
of  a  hill,  from  which  they  had  a  free  and 
uninterrupted  view  of  surrounding  objects. 
Nothing,  however,  was  to  be  seen  but  the 
Dnieper,  embedded  between  its  low  but  steep 
shores,  looking  like  sunie  monstrous  blacN- 
snake  in  tortuous  windings  crawling  over 
the  white  snow-plains  ;  for  alas  !  there  was 
yet  no  solid  pavement  of  ice  stretching 
across  it— only  deta(;hed  clumps  and  cakes 
were  drifting  on  its  ruffled  surface  between 
the  banks.  Ra^^inski's  keen  eyes  scannei! 
the  place  all  around,  where  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  crashing  and  thumping  of  the 
masses  of  ice. 

"  There,"  said  the  Mugic,  pointing  with 
his  finger  to  a  place  where  the  river  seemed 
to  vanish  out  of  sight — its  course  being  hid- 
den by  the  hills,"  there  the  ice  clogs  in  the 
shallow  bend  of  the  stream,  and  there  alone 
can  you  cross." 

Rasinski  urged  on  his  horse  towards  the 
place  pointed  out.  While  riding  along  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  he  suddenly  heard  a  rust- 
ling among  the  trees,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  crack  uf  a  whip,  and  the  violent  snorting 
and  blowing  of  hard-pulling  horses.  He 
stopped  to  listen,  for  none  of  their  wagons 
could  possibly  have  reached  this  point. 

"  Is  there  a  road  through  the  woods  here  ?" 
he  asked  the  Russian. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  guide  answered,  "the  road 
from  Syrokorenje  tuGosinoe.  It  is,  perhap.*, 
some  peasants  driving  throggh  the  woods ; 
but  there  can  be  no  danger,  lor  it  seems  to  be 
only  a  sled." 

Rasinski  determined,  however,  to  recon- 
noitre, and  if  necessary  to  stop  the  travellers. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as  they  came  in  sight,  he 
drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  galloped  into 
the  middle  of  the  road,  and  called  out  loudly 
in  Russian : 

"  Halt !  or  I  fire !" 

The  driver  of  the  sled,  ck)sely  wrapped  in 
thick  furs,  stopped  his  horses  and  answered 
also  in  Russian : 

"  What  do  you  want  ? — We  are  good  Rus- 
sians.— Why  do  you  stop  us  ?" 


Rasinski  rode  nearer,  still  with  his  cock(Ki 
pistol  in  his  hand. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ? — who  ars 
you  ? — and  -where  are  you  going  ?"  he  de- 
manded. 

The  driver,  instead  of  answering,  tume(^ 
round  to  those  sitting  in  the  sled,  and  whis- 
pered in  German : 

"  There  are  only  two ;  shall  I  answer  with 
the  pistol,  or  drive  on  ?" 

Rasinski  in  the  meantime  had  more  closely 
examined  the  occupants  of  the  sled;  there 
were  two  men  and  two  women,  to  judge  from 
their  apparel.  Observing  from  the  speech  of 
the  driver,  which  he  had  half-overheard,  that 
they  were  not  Russians,  he  supposed  that 
they  might  be  fugitive  officers  from  the  army. 
He  therefore  pushed  his  horse  close  up  to 
the  sled,  held  his  pistol  to  the  head  of  one 
of  the  men,  and  called  out  in  German : 

"  We  too  are  not  what  we  appear ;  are 
we  enemies  or  friends  ?    Speak,  or——" 

A  loud  exilamation  of  joy  interrupted  the 
conclusion  of  Rasinski's  address. 

"  Rasinski !  Rasinski !"  burst  from  the  lips 
of  those  spoken  to,  and  Louis  threw  himself 
on  his  neck.  At  the  same  moment,  Bernard 
sprang  hastily  from  the  sled,  and  pressed  up 
to  him  on  the  other  side.  Rasinski  dis- 
mounted, and  clasped  his  friends  to  his  heart. 
Tears  coursed  down  his  manly  cheeks.  What 
questions  and  explanations  tiow  followed 
each  other!  "Is  Jaromir  living?  where  is 
Boleslaus  ?"  enquired  Bernard  and  Louis  with 
one  breath.  This  reminded  Rasinski  that  an 
army  was  following  his  steps ;  he  turned 
around, pointed  back  to  the  woods, and  said: 
"  They  are  there  with  the  rest." 

They  now  saw  the  advance-guard  issuing 
from  the  woods.  Rasinski  again  mounted 
his  horse,  and  hastened  to  acquaint  the  mar- 
shal with  the  statement  given  by  the  guide. 
He  then  sought  Jaromir,  whom  he  found  with 
Boleslaus,  halting  by  the  wagons,  so  that  he 
was  able  to  impart  the  joyful  news  to  both 
at  once.  The  young  men,  following  the  di- 
rection given  them  by  Rasinski,  hurried  for- 
ward to  welcome  their  friends. 

The  young  men  now  first  learned  the  for- 
tunes which  had  befallen  their  companions, 
and  were  permitted  to  greet  the  betrothed  and 
sister.  Even  Bianca  was  happy,  in  partaking 
the  good  spirits  of  those  who  were  to  her 
the  dearest  objects  on  earth,  and  she  drew 
her  breath  with  more  freedom,  now  that  she 
beg.an  too  look  upon  their  safety  as  almost 
attained ;  for  sifter  leaving  the  hunting-castle, 
the  fugitives  had  undergone  many  hardships. 
Bernard's  wound  still  kept  him  in  such  a 
state  of  debility  that  it  was  impracticable  for 
him  to  pursue  the  journey  immediately.  In 
the  hospitable  house  of  old  Gregorius,  they 
had  found  a  shelter,  though  an  msecure  one, 


lKAPQI450IfS  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


«4 


as  on  the  second  day,  they  learned  that  Dol- 
gorow  had  obtained  his  liberty.     They  were 
therefore  in  constant  fear  of  his  vengeince, 
and  kept  themselves  concealed  during  the 
day  in  one  of  the  sepulchral  vaults  of  the 
cburoh,  until  Gregorius  brought  them  under 
tlie  protection  of  darkness  to  one  of  his  cleri- 
cal brethren,  who,  for  five  days,  hid  them  in 
his  house.    From  this  house  they  set  out  on 
tlieir  flight,  as  Bernard  was  then  sufficiently 
improved,  and  the  Russian  army  approaching 
on  every  side ;  they  effected  their  escape  se- 
cretly and  by  night,  so  that  their  protector 
might  not  for  their  sakes  become  exposed  to 
the  consequences  of   his  perilous  agency. 
They  had  passed  the  preceding  night  in  the 
woods ;  to-night  they  had  hoped  to  complete 
their  deliverance  by  reaching  the  French  army. 
Willhofen,  who  was  best  acquainted  with  the 
country,  drove  the  sled ;  Jeannette  still  re- 
muned  the  faithful  companion  of  Bianca. 
The  fate  of  all  seemed  now  about  to  be  de- 
cided—their haven  lay  on  the  opposite  shore. 
But  whit  inexpressible   horror  was  com- 
pressed within  thiit  barrier  which  lay  between 
them  and  safety  I 

The  black  train  of  the  army  had  already 
spread  itself  over  the  snow-field  shelving 
down  towards  the  stream ;  but  the  travellers 
observed  with  as^^onishraent  that  the  throng 
on  the  bank  this  side  continually  incresvsed, 
while  no  one  was  to  be  seen  on  the  other. 
Willhofen  drove  towards  the  point  where  the 
passage  was  to  be  effected;  but  the  crowd 
was  already  so  dense  that  he  could  not  get 
to  the  water.  Rasinski  sought  out  his  friends 
among  the  confused  mass,  and  with  a  sor- 
rowing mien  informed  them,  that  no  wagon, 
not  even  a  horse,  could  cross  the  river,  the 
ice  being  too  thin  to  bear  any  such  burthen. 
Tlie  congealed  thoroughfare  consisted  only 
of  floating  pieces  of  ice  massed  together,  and 
cemented  by  their  own  ponderosity.  Only 
single  parsons  had  as  yet  ventured  to  cross ; 
but  even  of  these  many  had  perished,  by 
slipping  down  between  the  fissures. 

At  midnight  the  marshal  gave  orders  to 
commence  the  passage.  With  heroic  equa- 
nimity Ije  had  improved  the  three  hours  of 
delay  by  strengthening  the  bridge  with  all 
the  means  in  his  power.  Silent,  grave  and 
ste  .dfu>^tly,  keeping  their  ranks,  a  regiment  of 
light  inf. intry  made  the  first  essay.  But  hardly 
h:id  the  foremost  platoon  taken  a  few  steps, 
when  a  dull  crash  (founded  under  their  feet 
and  the  ice  began  to. yield.  Thinking  to 
save  themselves  by  rapidly  passing  over,  th«y 
redouble  their  speed;  but  as  other  troops 
press  on  behind,  the  pressure  on  the  icy  .sur- 
face is  proportionally  increased  ;  they  sink, 
with  the  clumps  which  support  them,  to  their 
knees  in  the  water;  their  feet  become  un- 
steady, slip,  the  black  abyss  opens — and  the 


wretches  who  have  trusted  themselves  on  the 
treacherous  flakes  disappear !  Cries  of  ter- 
ror rend  the  air ;  full  of  jilarm,  those  next  be- 
hind turn  b.ick  and  cast  themselves  with  im- 
petuous violence  on  the  ranks  of  their  com- 
rades, already  on  their  way  to  the  bank. 

Ney,  as  usual,  was  present  at  all  points. 
He  saw  his  braves  sink  beneath  the  merciless 
waters.  Here  and  there  a  head  was  seen 
above  the  surface,  or  an  arm  thrust  upwards, 
while  a  pitiful  cry  for  help  cut  the  listener 
to  the  hciirt.  In  a  few  seconds  all  had  van- 
ished— a  hideous  stillness  reigned  over  the 
flood. 

"In  this  way  it  is  impossible,"  said  the 
marshal ;  "  we  must  try  it  singly." 

The  soldiers  are  now  sent  by  groups  of 
twenty  only,  instructed  to  make  the  attempt 
by  jumping  from   one  cake  of  ice  to  the 
other.    This  succeeds.     New  hope  springs 
up  in  every  breast.     Just  then  tiie  distant 
booming  of  cannon  is  heiird.     This  unwel- 
come sound  calls  to  mind  the  overwhelming 
superiority  of  tii6  enemy,  who  may  at  any 
moment  find  the  tracks  and  push  afier  them. 
Tills  swells  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
powerfully  in  every  brciist.     If  the  enemy 
did  appear,  those  who  gained  the  opposite 
side  would  be  safe ;  but  all  who  tarried  on 
this  side  were  irretrievably  lost.     The  mass. 
e»  therefore  press  on,  and  a  fearful  strug- 
gle arises  who  shall   be   the  first  to  tread 
the  perilous  path.     Remonstrances  and  com- 
mands are  in  vain.      Tlie   marshal    himself 
tries  to  enforce  his  authority,  but  this  also 
is  set  at  nought.     Dreading  to  be  near  him, 
the    wretched    creatures  hjisfen   eagerly  to 
other  points  on  the  bank,  where  the  dark- 
ness hides  them  from    his  glance.     What 
should    have  been  for    their  welfare   thus 
becomes  their  destruction;  their  impetuous 
haste,    their    blind    fury    and    imprudence, 
cause  tiiem  to  perish.     They  spread  them- 
selves over  the   ice,  which  does  not  bear 
up  under  the  masses,  but  yields,  and  then 
parts    asunder.     The    pressing   crowd    de- 
prives  each    individual   of   the   use  of  his 
strength  and  power  of   locomotion.     The 
comrade  pushes  the  comrade,  the  friend  his 
friend,  the  soldier  his  officer,  down  into  the 
turbulent  current.     The  enrire  disrail  ex- 
panse of  ice  resounds  with  a  bellowing  and 
crashing    dreadful    to    listen    to.      Prayers, 
curses,  and  piteous  cries,  commingle  in  hor- 
rible concert.    The  opposite  shore,  to  those 
who  are  able  to  reach  it,  presents  a  rough, 
steep  ascent, completely  cased  in  ice.  Through 
terror  and  exhaustion  they  are  unable  to  clam- 
ber up.     They  tumble  and  roll  back  into  the 
river,  breaking  the  ice  into  still  smaller  frag- 
ments, or  else  their  own  half-frozen  limbs. 
They  lie  bleeding  and  crippled  on  the  jagged 
flakes,  crying  in  vain  for  help.    The  ear°of 


9td 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


compassion  is  deaf — ^humanity  is  extinct  in 
every  breast.  Those  next  behind  press  on, 
and  without  compunction  or  hesitancy  step 
on  the  quivering  and  yet  breathing  bodies  of 
their  comrades,  and  the  heel  of  the  yet  un- 
scathed, wickedly  crushes  the  face  of  the  ex- 
hausted fallen. 

Tiie  wounded,  the  women  and  children  on 
the  shore — hear  the  cries  of  distress  through 
the  ciilenl  night;  its  black  veil  thrown  around 
the  scene,  enhances  the  horror.  The  mad- 
ness of  despair  seizes  uptm  the  wretched 
beings;  they  run  up  and  down  the  bank, 
wringiug  their  hands.  Some  of  them,  think- 
ing this  torture  more  intolerable  than  death 
itself,  throw  themselves  in  blind  delirium  into 
the  gaping  stream ;  others  again,  despairing 
of  everything,  and  most  of  ail,  of  their  own 
strength,  cast  themselves  howling  on  the 
hard  frozen  ground,  cursing  their-existence, 
and  the  day  of  their  birth. 

Bianca  saw  these  images  of  despair  and 
horror  around  her.  Fcv*  a  considerable 
time  she  had  boroe  the  sight  with  mute  res- 
ignation. But  at  last  it  became  overpower- 
ing; she  burst  into  tears  and  sank  on  her 
brother's  breast,  who  ineffectually  called  all 
bis  manly  composure  to  his  assistance  in  or- 
der to  appear  undismayed. 

R-a:<iuski,  who,  being  on  horseback,  and 
elevated  above  the  rest,  regulated  everything 
that  remained  subject  to  regulation,  came  up 
at  this  juncture,  and  addressing  his  friends, 
said  : 

"  He  calm,  and  do  nothing  rashly,  for  here 
I  apprehend  no  danger.  It  is  the  panic  alone 
which  hds  seized  the  soldiers,  and  is  the  cause 
of  their  destruction.  I  will  remain  with  my 
men  to  the  last ;  do  not  make  any  attempt  to 
cross  over  until  I  call  upon  you.  Perhaps  it 
may  be  possible  even  to  convey  across  the 
sleds  and  wagons." 

The  serenity  and  collectednesa  of  mind 
which  Rasinski  knew  how  to  maintain  in  the 
confusion  of  the  most  unheard-of  exigencies, 
was  a  bower-anchor  of  hope  to  all.  Though 
he  had  again  disappeared,  in  order  to  afford 
some  help  to  a  detachment  of  grenadiers  who 
had  fallen  in  close  by  the  shore,  yet  his  mo- 
mentary presence  was  sufficient  to  awaken 
fresh  hope  and  courage. 

The  disorderly  crowds  by  degrees  became 
disentangled.  The  troops  had  at  length  nearly 
all  crossed  ;  the  wagons  and  artillery  alone 
had  not  been  able  to  pass.  Rasinski's  men 
were  the  only  ones  that  remained,  as  escort 
to  a  wagon-train  filled  with  the  severely 
wounded.  The  marshal  walked  on  foot  up 
and  down  on  the  bank,  still  giving  his  orders. 
Like  the  captain  of  a  stranded  vessel,  he 
would  not  leave  the  wreck  as  long  as  a  frag- 
ment remained. 

As  a  preparatory  step,  the  open  places  in 


the  ice  were  immediately  again  closed  up  by 
other  pieces.  By  dear-bought  experience  the 
safest  places  had  gradually  become  better 
known.  Across  those  places  it  was  now  at- 
tempted to  pass.  With  great  caution  the 
wavonsare  brought  along.  Proceeding  some 
thirty  paces,  the  ice  breaks.  Then  arise  ago- 
nised cries ;  the  hapless  wounded  sink,  and 
combat  against  the  current ;  they  fight  with 
each  other  for  the  last  gasp  of  their  wretched 
lives.  In  vain  do  they  call  God  and  men  to 
their  rescue!  A  few  moments  suffice  to 
plunge  them  all  into  eternity  ! 

Ney,  deeply  affected,  walked  up  and  down 
the  inhospitable  bank. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  the  wagons  to  cross," 
he  cried,  assuming  once  more  the  tone  of  a 
general.  "  Spike  the  guns !  All  that  can- 
not be  carried  by  hand,  leave  for  the  use  of 
those  left  behind." 

This  order  is  no  less  than  a  sentence  of 
death  to  all  who  cannot  trust  to  their  indi- 
vidual strength.  Tfie  wail  of  the  wounded 
and  helpless  ascends  uptu  the  sky.  All  able 
to  stir  hand  or  foot,  crawl  down  towards  the 
horrible  passage.  The  rest  in  wild  phrensy 
plunder  the  baggage,  because  it  contains  the 
only  preservative  against  the  intense  cold — 
some  small  stores  of  viands  and  stimulants. 
They  carry  off  the  least  trifling  article,  and 
yet  have  nothing  to  spare.  They  seize  an 
article,  throw  it  away,  seize  it  again,  and 
fling  it  back  after  all.  Like  some  frantic 
people  whose  property  is  burning,  they  run  in 
each  other's  way,  and  finish  by  preserving  that 
wh:ch  turns  out  to  be  valueless.  Then  they 
hear  the  drum  from  the  other  shore  beating 
the  rappel  to  march  ;  the  dread  of  being  left 
behind  again  seizes  them,  and  in  wild  dismay 
they  again  rush  towards  the  river. 

Rasinski  began  now  to  think  of  himself 
aAd  his  friends.  With  sorrow  in  his  looks 
and  voice,  he  repaired  to  the  sledge  on  which 
sat  Bianca  with  Jeannette,  closely  wrapped 
up,  to  avoid  witnessing  the  picture  around 
them. 

"  Princess,"  said  Rasinski,  accosting  her, 
"  the  stern  alternative  subjects  you  to  a  very 
severe  trial ;  sledges  and  wagons  c9.nnot  be 
conveyed  across  tne  river ;  but  I  hope  that 
horses  may  yet  pass.  Take  all  with  you  that 
is  indispensably  necessary.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  we  shall  soon  reach  some  habi- 
tation, where  at  least,  accommodation  may  be 
found  for  ladies." 

Bianca  rose,  threw  back  her  veil,  and  an- 
swered with  much  emotion : 

"  You  are  so  good — but  I  do  not  fear  trials. 
I  feel  that  I  possess  courage  and  strength  to 
endure  them.  It  is  only  the  suffering  of  these 
poor  helpless  creatures  that  affects  me  so 
painfully." 

The  horses  are  taken  oat,  and  some  light 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RIjSSIA. 


273 


articles  thrown  over  their  backs.  Willhofen 
leads  one — a  Polish  soldier,  the  other.  Ra- 
sinski  goes  before  them  himself ;  he  is  best 
acquainted  with  the  path  they  ought  to  fol- 
low. Louis  and  Bernard  conduct  Bia.nca 
between  them,  while  Jeannette  is  led  by  Ja- 
romir  and  Boleslaus ;  the  crossing  is  effected 
safely  by  going  three  and  three  ;  their  weight 
is  not  ponderous  and  they  can  mutually  assist 
each  other. 

But,  as  the  way  down  to  the  river  is  filled 
with  wagons,  and  strewed  with  remnants  of 
baggage  and  hundreds  of  unfortunate  beings, 
Rasinski  leads  his  convoy  by  a  somewhat 
circuitous  route.  Suddenly  Bianca's  atten- 
tive ear  is  struck  by  the  cries  of  a  child. 
.  "  Heavens !"  she  exclaimed,  "  there  is  a 
child  left  helpless  behind !  If  we  cannot 
B.ave  others,  we  must  not  leave  this  innocent 
to  perish  !" 

Her  eye  is  guided  by  the  ear — she  listens 
again,  and  has  finally  correctly  traced  the 
direction  from  which  the  cry  proceeds.  The 
poor  little  creature  must  be  in  the  midst  of 
the  wagons.  She  hurries  to  the  spot,  and 
does  indeed  find  a  child  lying  wrapped  up  in 
straw  and  abandoned ;  she  takes  it  up  ten- 
derly. 

"Poor  little  creature,"  she  says,  in  gentle 
accents,  "  could  thy  mother  have  forgotten 
thee  ?  I  will  be  thy  mother  until  she  returns !" 

She  takes  it  into  her  arms ;  she  will  not 
allow  Louis  or  Bernard  to  rid  her  of  the  sweet 
burden.  She  quiets  the  crying  child  wiih 
her  caresses,  and  soon  it  rests  contented  in 
her  bosom. 

Boleslaus  recognises  it;  it  is  Alisette's 
little  daughter. 

Once  safe  over  the  stream,  the  friends  em- 
braced each  other ;  and  then  all  turned  to 
Rasinski,  for  they  felt  that  he  was  their  pre- 
server, and  pressed  around  him  with  feelings 
of  gratitude. 

"  Look  to  your  Preserver  above,"  he  said, 
lifting  his  hands  towards  heaven ;  "  direct 
your  eyes  and  your  hearts  to  Him  who  dwells 
above  the  stars,  and  whose  eye  penetrates  the 
thick  darkness  and  the  clouds  !  Give  Him 
your  thanks !" 

Sudd^ly  a  man  came  pushing  through  the 
crowd  near  the  spot  where  Rasinski  stood. 
The  latter  saw  that  it  was  Regnard. 

"  Where  bound  ?"  he  cried,  stopping  him. 

"  Don't  detain  me !"  was  his  answer,  en- 
deavoring to  tear  himself  away.  "  The  poor 
woman  in  whose  care  I  left  my  child  was  so 
bewildered  by  fright,  that  she  entirely  forgot 
it.     That  child  I  must  save  !" 

"  It  is  safe  already !"  cried  Rasinski,  with 
gladness. 

"  How  ? — where  ?"  Regnard  stammered, 
looking  around. 

Rasinski  in  a  few  words  related  the  inci- 
18 


dent,  and  directed  the  father  to  Bianca.  She 
had  overheard  what  had  passed,  and  came  to 
meet  him. 

Regnard's  joy  was  so  excessive  upon  see- 
ing his  child,  that  he  nearly  forgot  to  offer  his 
thanks.  The  stern  iron-strung  warrior,  the 
deep  and  rigid  furrows  of  whose  forehead  and 
cheeks  were  scarcely  ever  smoothed  by  a 
pleasant  smile,  now  stood  with  a  countenance 
exp'-essive  of  the  deepest  solicitude  ;  tears 
glistened  in  his  eyes. 

The  troops,  meanwhile,  had  been  formed 
and  began  to  move.  Willhofen  led  up  the 
two  horses  for  Bianca  and  Jeannette,  with 
blankets  for  saddles.  The  women  were 
lifted  up  and  seated  upon  them.  Bianca 
kept  the  child  before  her,  and  the  old  servant 
hitched  the  bridle-rein  over  his  arm  to  lead 
the  horses.  Bernard  and  Louis  walked  along- 
side on  fo9t,  but  still  kept  as  near  as  possible 
to  Rasinski's  troop,  the  greater  number  of 
whom,  having  lost  their  horses,  pursued  their 
way  on  foot.  The  march  led  through  a  thick 
forest,  in  the  shelter  of  whose  obscurity  the 
most  impending  dangers  seemed  to  have  been 
at  the  last  effort,  surmounted. 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

Meanwhile,  the  acutest  sorrow  prevailed 
throughout  the  Grand  Army.  No  hope  was 
entertained  that  the  heroic  and  devoted  Ney 
would  be  able  to  find  a  way  of  escape  out  of 
the  snow-deserts  of  Old  Russia.  When  the 
Emperor's  guards,  led  on  by  himself,  as  he 
turned  back  to  save  Eugene  and  Davoust, 
were  obliged  to  sustain  so  many  terrible  con- 
flicts, and  when  the  army  of  Italy  was  saved 
only  as  it  were  by  a  miracle — what  hope 
could  there  be  for  those  yet  two  days  in  the 
rear  with  the  enemy  at  their  heels,  in  their 
front  and  on  both  flanks  !  Gloom  and  sadness 
filled  every  breast.  No  one  seemed  even  to  be 
grateful  for  his  own  preservation,  so  long  as 
the  lion-hearted  Ney — certainly  the  only  one 
adequate  to  such  a  command — struggled  in 
the  toils  of  beleaguering  enemies.  And  let  us 
pause  here  a  moment  to  pay  a  tribute  to  the 
hero  of  this  heroic  campaign.  We  do  not  envy 
the  feelings  of  those,  be  they  Russians,  or  of 
what  country  they  may,  who  can  read,  without 
profound  emotion  and  admiration,  the  history 
of  Marshal  Ney  during  the  Russian  cam- 
paign, and  especially  during  its  latter  and 
most  disastrous  portion.  When  those  who 
previously  ranked  as  the  bravest  gave  in— 
when  pride  for  thirst  and  glory  were  oblitera- 
ted by  extremity  of  suffering,  and  by  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation — when  the  soldier's 


974 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


most  powerful  incentives,  discipline,  honor, 
and  gain,  were  forgotten  and  lost  sight  of,  and 
even  the  iron  veterans  of  the  Old  Guard,  no 
longer  sustained  by  their  Emperor's  presence, 
renounced  the  contest  and  lay  down  to  die — 
when  his  fellow-marshals,  with  rare  excep- 
tions, showed  weariness  and  discouragement, 
and  even  the  steru  Davoust  complained  that 
the  limits  of  human  suflFering  were  exceeded 
— where  was  Ney,  what  was  his  aspect,  what 
his  words  and  actions  ?  In  rear  of  the  army, 
a  musket  in  his  hand,  a  smile  of  confidence 
on  his  lips,  the  fire  of  his  great  soul  and  of  his 
own  glory  flashing  from  his  eyes,  he  exposed 
his  life  each  minute  in  the  day,  as  freely  as 
ever  he  had  done  when  he  had  but  life  to  lose, 
befpre  his  valor  had  given  him  riches  and 
rank,  family  and  fame.  Surely,  so  long  as 
valor  is  appreciated,  the  name  of  Ney  will  be 
borne  in  glorious  remembrance,  ^nd  surely 
those  men  who  subsequently  pronounced  his 
sentence  of  death,  must  since  have  sometimes 
felt  remorse  at  their  share  in  the  untimely 
fate  of  so  great  a  warrior.  "  I  have  saved 
my  eagles!"  joyously  exclaimed  Napoleon, 
when  he  learned,  at  two  leagues  from  Orcha, 
that  Ney  was  safe,  although  he  brought  with 
him  but  the  ghost  of  his  fine  division :  "  I 
would  have  given  three  hundred  millions  to 
avoid  the  loss  of  such  a  man."  What  would 
the  Emperor  have  said,  had  he  then  been  told 
that  three  years  later,  on  the  7th  December, 
1815,  the  anniversary  of  one  of  those  days 
when  Ney  so  bravely  breasted  the  Muscovite 
torrent,  an  execution  would  take  place  in  an 
alley  of  the  Luxemburj;  gardens,  and  that 
there,  by  sentence  of  a  French  chamber,  and 
the  bullets  of  French  soldiers — a  premature 
end  would  be  put  to  the  glorious  career  of 
hiiu  he  had  surnamed  "  The  Bravest  of  the 
i3rave !" 

It  was  night.  The  Viceroy,  still  wakeful 
from  protracted  cares  for  the  comfort  of  his 
men,  suddenly  hears  the  clattering  of  horses  in 
the  silent  street  of  the  little  town.  He  leans 
out  of  the  window  and  listens.  Seeing  several 
horsemen  apfJroaching,  he  challenges  them 
by  calling : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?" 

"  Polish  cavalry." 

"From  wiience  ?" 

"  From  the  corps  of  Marshal  Ney." 

The  response  strikes  like  a  bright  flash 
through  the  Prince's  heart. 

"  Where's  Ney  ? — Is  he  safe  V  he  asked 
quickly,  almost  beside  himself. 

"  He  is  inarching  here  down  the  right 
bank  of  tiie  Dnieper,"  answered  Rasinski, 
who  had  been  dispatched  in  advance  by  the 
marshal;  "  but  the  Russians  are  close  upon 
him ;  he  wants  assistance." 

"  He  shall  have  it !"  cries  the  Prince,  joy- 
fully, and  in  a  few  minutes  more  he  appears 


in  the  street,  surrounded  by  hia  oflScers.  The 
call  is  trumpeted  forth,  but  in  what  way  is  it 
answered  ?  Hardly  have  the  soldiers  reached 
their  first  place  of  rest,  than  they  are  roused 
to  traverse  the  wilderness  out  of  which  they 
have  but  just  fought  their  way  !  They  are 
deaf  to  the  rattling  of  the  drums.  With 
great  ditficulty  they  are  roused  and  pulled 
out  by  main  strength  ;  they  tumble  out  and 
tumble  back  in  their  warm  beds,  in  a  state  ol 
half-consciousness.  The  enemy  is  perhaps 
again  upon  them ;  let  him  murder  them  in 
their  sleep,  for  resistance  or  defence  they 
offer  no  longer. 

But  there  is  yet  one  way  left — 

"You  must  go  to  save  JVIarshal  Ney,"  is 
shouted  in  the  ears  of  the  sleepers. 

That  name  is  a  talisman  ;  the  mention  of 
him  for  whom  they  had  grieved  as  one  de- 
parted, awakens  feelings  of  exultation  in 
every  brave  heart ;  to  abandon  such  a  com- 
mander were  worse  than  treason.  Ney  is 
the  champion  that  dares  everything ;  he  is 
the  preserver,  when  no  other  human  arm 
can  save ;  he  safe,  nothing  more  is  to  be 
feared. 

The  glad  news  spread  from  house  to  house  ; 
the  soldiers  flock  together  in  crowds  ;  every 
one  wants  to  be  the  first  to  succor  the  hero. 
Even  the  generals  are  emulous  of  the  honor ; 
nothing  but  his  exalted  rank  enables  the 
Viceroy  to  establish  his  claim  to  priority. 

In  profound  darkness  they  set  out,  Rasin- 
ski, with  his  men,  riding  in  the  van.  But 
the  hostile  elements  do  not  even  now  cease 
troubling ;  the  wind  rises,  drives  snow  in 
clouds,  covering  and  hiding  every  path. 
How  are  they  to  preserve  the  proper  direc- 
tion ? — how  descry  the  lost  ones  in  this  in- 
explorable  wilderness  ?  For  two  hours  tliey 
penetrate  deeper  and  deeper,  trusting  to 
chance.  They  fear  even  that,  by  a  stroke  of 
ill-luck,  they  may  be  running  right  into  the 
net  spread  for  them  by  the  enemy. 

"  We  are  on  the  ocean  here,  though  its 
waves  are  frozen,"  said  the  Viceroy  ;  "  wo 
must  employ  the  means  used  by  mariners  in 
distress — signal  guns." 

Three  guns  are  fired  at  equal  intervals, 
re-echoing  their  hollow  thunder  through  the 
qight.  Now  every  one  listens  with  eajrer 
attention. 

For  some  time  all  is  silent.  The  hope 
of  the  signal  being  heard  dies  away.  At 
length  distant  musket-shots  are  heard. 

"  What  can  that  mean  ?"  asked  the  Vice- 
roy, thrown  into  fresh  perplexity. 

"  A  favorable  sign,"  answered  Rasinski  ; 
"  the  third  division  has  no  longer  any  guns  ; 
they  cannot  answer  in  any  other  way." 

"  Noble  fellows  !"  cried  Eugene  ;  "  they 
have  then  understood  us.  How  beautifully 
caution  and  intrepidity  are  blended  in  Ney ! 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


S7S 


He  waited  to  see  whether  the  three  guns 
would  be  the  only  ones  fired,  and  thus  he 
arrived  at  the  only  possiUe  solution  they 
were  naeant  to  convey." 

"  In  the  circu  instances  in  which  the  mar- 
shal is  placed,  there  was  indeed  a  great  risk 
incurred  by  answering  the  signal,"  re;plied  Ra- 
sinski ;  "  the  means  betrays  himself  equally 
to  tlie  enemy.  But  his  eagle  glaace  pene- 
trates the  true  state  of  things  with  consum- . 
mate  skill ;  he  understands  how,  with  a  firm 
hand,  to  grasp  the  means  of  conquest  or  eva- 
sion." 

"  And  tlus  time  he  wUI  not  have  been  mis- 
taken," prouiUy  exclaimed  the  Vicwoy,  as, 
he  turned  to  give  his  treops  the  new  direction. 

The  succoring  soldiers  press  on.  The 
clouds  disperse ;  the  moon,  so  frequently  a 
■dangerous  foe,  becomes,  on  this  occawon,  the 
friend  of  the  distressed.  She  throws  her 
,pale  light  over  the  snew-hills,  and  disclosed 
io  view  a  moving  black  line  bending  along 
the  edge  of  the  v/oods. 

"  There  they  are  I"  cried  Rasinski.  and  the 
troops  hasten  their  mai<ch.  Soon  they  mu- 
tually recognise  each  other;  signs  erf  joy  are 
repeated  ;  they  eagerly  increase  their  speed  ;; 
the  noble-hearted  generals  cannot  await  the 
moment  of  meeting ;  they  spur  on  in  advance 
■of  their  men,  and  fuHy  recognising  each 
other,  leap  from  their  horses  and  embrace. 

The  whole  army  is  carried  away  by  this 
inspiring  example.  As  if  each  one  had  the 
happiness  of  rescuing  a  brother,  a  son,  or  a 
father,  officers  and  soldiers  rush  forward  and 
fold  one  another  in  their  arms.  Dangers, 
sufferings,  sacrifices,  are  forgotten.  A  bright 
star  beams  at  last  on  the  desolate  sea  of  ad- 
versity ;  Russia''s  frozen  steppes  aad  ice-clad 
plains  for  once  behold  a  scene  from  the 
softened  portioa  of  the  drama  of  life. 

The  hero,  who  had  so  successfully,  and 
with  a  lien's  boldness,  wrestled  with  foes  and . 
perils  on  every  hand,  was  surrounded  by  the 
soldiers  in  afiTectionate  and  admiring  wonder. 
All  willingly  lay  the  meed  of  praise  at  his 
feet;  but  he  to  whom  duty,  honor,  and 
fame  have  assumed  a  second  nature^  seems 
hardly  to  know  that  he  deserves  it. 

He  is  carried  in  triumph  into  Orcha.  On 
the  way,  the  soldiers  of  the  Viceroy  share 
with  their  nev/  comrades  the  provisions 'and 
liquors  they  had  with  them. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIIL 

Through  the  active  care  of  Rasinski,  his 
restored  friends  were  once  more  in  possession 
of  a  wagon,  on  which  Bianca,  Jeannette,  and 


the  child  might  pursue  liheir  wearisome  jour^ 
ney.  In  order  to  make  themselves  as  useful 
as  possiUe  in  the  midst  of  the  common  cala- 
mity, they  took  three  of  the  wounded  officers 
also  with  them  on  the  wagon,  oae  of  whom 
always  took  his  tarn  in  driving  the  horses. 
Louis  and  Bernard  walked  on  foot,  as  tho 
latter^s  wound,  thanks  to  his  youth  and  sound 
constitution,  and  the  superior  dressing  and 
nursiag  which  he  had  eBJo3^d  for  the  last 
few  days,  was  now  fully  healed. 

Some  days  passed  with  the  usual  fatigue* 
on  the  road.  The  hope  that  AEnsk  could 
now  not  be  very  distant,  upheld  the  strength 
of  the  army,  for  there^  were  to  a  certainty, 
stores  awaiting  diem  in  abundance,  good 
quaiTters,  besides  reinforcements  of  fresh  and 
well-disciplined  troops.  Thus  the  fragments 
of  the  grand  army  reached  Teloczin.  From 
this  place  they  had  but  just  resumed  their 
march  on  the  following  morning,  when  they 
were  met  by  au  officer  bearing  dispatches 
from  the  Emperor.  They  contained  the  ap- 
palling intelligence  that  Minsk  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  enemy. 

When  Rasinski,  in  Ins  bivouac,  learned  th« 
news  from  the  lips  of  Regnard,  even  he 
turned  pale,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  this  disaster  from  his 
memory.     He  then  uttered  these  words  : 

"  The  Emperor  is  a  prisoner  of  state." 

A  gloomy  silence  reigned  throughout  the 
circle. 

"  That,  too,  dfca  has  fallen  upon  us,"  he 
isesumed,  at  tl>e  end  erf  a  long  silence.  "  The 
loss  o£  Minsk,  however  fearful,  might  yet  be 
borne,  did  not  the  Berezina,  with  its  bottom- 
less marshes,  hold  us  prisoners.  A  Russian 
army  on  the  oihfv  side,  is  an  iron  bolt  which 
liermetic«lly  closes  the  door  out  oi  this  Tar- 
tarus against  as." 

"  There  is  no  hope  left,"  rejoined  Regnard, 
"  but  that  the  enemy  before  us  may  yet  be 
ignorant  cf  our  real  situation." 

Rasinski  incredulously  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  suppo:>e  that  Kutusow  has  not 
found  a  messenger  to  send  iatelltgence  to 
Tschitschagoff,  Wittgenstein,  and  tiie  other 
generals  who  command  the  masses  in  our 
rear  ?  They  must  be  blind  «•  mad,  if  they 
do  nc*  now  throw  the  net  over  their  prey  ! 
But  one  alternative  remains  to  us — a  glorious 
conflict  and  death.  Fortune  cannot  force  us 
into  the  path  of  dishonor  ;  we  must  dispense 
with  her  favors." 

The  army,  after  several  most  fatiguing 
marches,  arrived  at  Niaraanitza.  On  this 
dreadful  road  thousands  fell  amidst  the  ordi- 
nary suffering  and  exhaustion,  while  the  in- 
telligence of  Minsk  being  in  the  hands  of 
the  Russians,  was,  alas  !  more  strongly  con- 
firmed. The  road  led  almost  uninterruptedly 
I  through  pine-forests,  now  and  then  inter- 


' 


976 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED^  AND  TWELVE,- OR; 


ftpersed*  with  only  a  few  wretched  huts.  The 
lead-eolored  sky  seemed-  frownmgly  to  drop 
down  to  the  very  groundj  a»  if  enshmuding-the 


eartbin  its  veil  of  drizzly  mist*.     It  was- not  troops  at  a  giv^n  point  without  being  per- 


answered  Regnard  ;  "  every  measure  to  tfia^ 
effect  has  already  been  taken.  The  main< 
difficirlty  is,  however^  to    concentrate   the 


very  cold,  neither  did  it  thaw  ;  but  a  chill  and 
searching^  wind  kept  steadily  Mowing,  pene» 
trati»g  t-he  scanty  rags-  of  the  men-,  and 
8low^y  congealing  their  Kmbs.  The  ground 
was  oased  in  a^  bright,  mirror-like  crest  of 
ice;  every  step-  nequired  str  separate  effort^ 
and  a  mis-step«r  atiuBblewas  oftei>  foHewed 
by  tbe  necessity  of  »  farewell  t»  earth,,  for 
the  poor  wretoh'tieverrose  moroi 

ki>  the  profound  obscurity,  Rasifiski  had, 
wi^'  his-men,  peached  an-empty  house,  which 
one  of  them  accidenta-Hy  discovered  a  little 
asidefrora  the  road.  A  night  pass^  in  this 
n»prow,  but'  intact  asyUim,  would  have  been 
tolerable,  bad  not  the  most  aiarratog  reports 
spread  aboul;  Regnard^  whose  iron,  unyieid^ 
iik^  frame  i^  fatigue  could  shalte,  and  who 
wa»  indefatigable  in-  coHecting  all  sorts  of 
news,  entered  late-at  night  to  put  Rasinsbi-iin 
pessessioH  of-  bis  budget,  but  more  particu- 
la»Ly  for  the  purpose  of  onoe  more  seeing  hia 
litftle-  daughter,  who*  still  reeeived  Bianca's 
care;. 

"  Well,  Regnard,  what  news-?'*  asked  Rtt- 
siseki,  who^  wrapped  up  in  his  eloaU,  had 
already  laid  down  to  sleep. 

"  We  are-ftiirly  trapped,"  began- Bfegnard. 
"  The  bridge  at  Borisoff-  is  burnt,  and  the 
river  is  so  wide,  that  to  recojpstruct  it  oannet 
be  thought  of:  The  opposite  -shore  is  covered 
with  enemies  7  the  army  of  Tschitsobagoff 
is  estended  to  evety  pOint  where  a  passage 
over  the  Berezma  might- be  effected  ;  in  short, 
to  cross- that  river  is  impossible."^ 

"  Otie  single  night  of^  hard  frost,"  cried 
Ras-inski^  "-und-nothing  would  be  more  easy." 

"  &it  I  have  gpod  news  too,"^  continued 
Regnardi  "  Marshal' Vrotop  ie  approaching 
with  twAenly  thousand  fresb  troops,,  which 
must  ioin  us  early  in  the  morningj  The 
light  eavalryof  his  vanguard  has  iustcome 
in." 

"  Only  so  many  more  victims  !"  returned 
Rasinski^  sadly.     "True,  if- it  were  practica- 
ble to  cfosfr  the  river— if  the  waves  of  the 
Berezina  were  suddenly  bound  up  in  ioe — in 
such  a  case,  fresh  forces  might  bring  deliver- 
ance.    And'  there  is  still  a  chance,?  be- con- 
tinued eagerly,  as  if  a  happy  tlioaght-  hadi 
occurred  to-  him,  "if  Tschitschagofft couW 
only  be  blinded  as  to  the  true  point !  Spurious 
despatches  m»Kt  be  sent  out-— demonstrations - 
must  be  made  fertiier  down  the  stream,  soine- 
where  about  Ukokdo-and  Berezina,  and  then- 
the  passage  be  suddenly  effected  elsewhere.. 
Now  this  may  be  p»actic»ble,  as  the  accession, 
of  fresh  droops  i»ay  give  us  the  benefit  of  a 
few  days'  delay. 

"  Something  of  that  kind  is  on  the  tapi*f 


cerved.  Blit  it  is  late  j  good  night  You 
need  repose,  and  so  do  I;,  tomorrow,  if  only 
once  m«e,  ¥  hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

With  these  words  he  was  about  leaving: 

the  hut',' but  he  stopped  and  cast  a>n  affec^ 

tionate  fook  on  his  child,  which  lay  fast  asleep 

,in  Bianea^  arms,  'm  a  reraote  parr  of  the 

.  room.     Hfe  9te]»ped  neap,  bvt  very  cautiously;. 

'so  as  not  to   wake   the  sleepers :    "  May 

heaven  protect  thee  f^  he  said  softly  ,*  "  for 

ourselves,  we  must  not  complairr;"     Saying 

this,  he  abraptly  left  the  house.     Rasinskf 

land  the  others  again  threw  themselves  on- 

their  couehi  where  ttrey  were  soo»-  locked  in- 

sleep. 

Tire  army,  on  the  evening  of  the  fbllowing 
d&y,  reached  Borisoff,  situated  near  the  bank*- 
of  the  Berezina,  which  here  expands  into  a 
wide,  swampy  lake.     The  substantial  bridge- 
across  was   entirely  dfestroyed;  as  the  town» 
buta  few  days  previOtts>y,  had,  by  mafn  force, 
;been  torn  from  tire  enemy's  graspn     BorisofF' 
'was  BOW  garrisoned  by  Marshal  Oudinot. 
Rasinski  obtainedlntelligeBce  tliat  every  thing- 
had  been  done  to  further  the  scheme  which- 
,he  would  himseWi  have  advised..    GeneraF 
Laurence,  whoj  as  chief  of  the  general' stafiT. 
'was  charged    with-  the   restoration  of   the 
bridges,  had'sent  for  several  Jfew.s,.who  acted* 
as  spie»,  to  interrogata  them  respecting  the 
fords.     He  knew  but   too  well  that  these 
worshippers  of  Mkflamon  would;  as  soon  as 
they  were  paid  off,  betray  the   whole  matter 
to  the  enemy,  for  a'  simikir  consideration. 
Every  question  and  commission  entrusted  to- 
them  was,  therefore,  wordfed  in  suob  a  man- 
ner, thaf  they  could  form  no  other  idea  but 
that  the  army  would,  on  a  sodden,  turn  south- 
wardly, and  down  the  stream,  so  as- to  elude 
their  porsuersv-fkU  in-Tschitscbagoff^s  rear;, 
and  surprising  the  enemy,  retake  the  all-im- 
•portant  position  of  Minsk  by  storm.     While- 
these  preparations  were  going  on,  tJie  corps- 
of  Ma*shal  G'tidinot-set.out  in^  the  profound- 
est  silence  towards  Studianba, .where  the  pas- 
sage wa«  m  reality  to  be  made.     Rjisinski, 
too,  when  the  men  bad  rested  a  few  hours, 
received -orders  to  proceed  to  that  place.  The^ 
strietest  orders  wore  given  to-  a\x)id'  making: 
the   slightest-noise  during  the  march;,  stilt 
less  VWL8  any  fire  to  be  kindled,  or  anything 
to  be   attempted  by   which  tirey  might  be 
noticed  fromthe  op^site  shore  ;  for  a  chain 
of    Russian  videttes  was   posted  alb  along 
that  shore,  whose  single  watciJ-6re&  wore 
seen  glimmering  on  tho  wooded  heigbta  like 
so  many  litrid  stars. 

Rasinski  endeavored  to  persuade  liouis- 
and'  BeraaxA'  to  separate'  tbemaelve»»  with 


Tf AT01.E0WS  INVASIOTJ  OF  RUSSIA. 


ftn 


Bianca,  trom  the  troops,  and  to  push  their 
way,  as  far  as  practicable,  down  th«  river, 
(oeiieving  that  they  woald'find  no  great  diffi- 
culty while  onder  the  protection  of  Bianca — 
who,  anywhere,  ceold  appear  as  a  native  of 
the  country,  to  obtain  a  place  of  refuge — 
and,  finally,  the  open  road  to  Warsaw.  But 
the  two  friends,  and  more  than  they,  £ia«Bca 
herself,  firmly  declared  that  they,  on  no  ac- 
count, would  separate  4;heir  fate  from  that  of 
Hasiiiski  and  his  men.  Willhofen  fted  Jean- 
«iette  likewise,  with  the  same  touching  fidelity, 
strenuously  resisted  the  entreafies  of  Bianca, 
urging  upcMi  them  to  adopt  these  means  of 
safety. 

Bernard  and  Louis  proceeded  on  foot  be- 
side the  wagon  on  which  Bianca  was  seated. 
3t  aiforded  them  mutual  satisfaction  t«  know 
that  they  were  so  near  together,  and  to  re- 
cognise the  faint  outlines  of  each  other's  pw- 
€ons,  though  ititerdicted  from  speech. 

As  they  <lrew  nea-rer  to  Studianka,  the 
watch-fires  on  the  heights  became  distinct 
£nd  numerous.  This  Rasinski  observed 
with  regret — as  it  led  to  the  natural  conclu- 
sion Chat  a  formidable  force  was  stationed  on 
the  opposite  shore,  and  that  everything  was 
lost,  unless  they  succeeded  in  deceiving  the 
enemy. 

Rasinski  reached  the  reudezvoHS  at  Stu- 
dianka at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Since 
the  preceding  night  the  engine^s  had  been 
busied  in  throwing  two  -bridges  across  the 
river,  which,  it  was  hoped,  would  be  comple- 
ted before  daybreak  ■;  so  that  at  least  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  troops  might  pass  to  break 
a  way  through  the  enemy.  But  this  hope 
was  most  cruelly  w-recked.  The  river,  swol- 
len l^  the  thaw  of  previous  days,  had  i-isen 
several  feet,  so  that  the  ford  by  which,  on  an 
emergency,  the  infantry  might  have  pursued 
their  wa.y,  had  now  become  too  deep  even  for 
cavalry.  The  frost,  which  had  again  set  in, 
was  sufficiently  severe  k>  form  cakt^  of 
ice,  which,  drifting  with  the  current,  carried 
everything  before  them,  but  did  not  tarry  to 
unite.  The  utmost  efforts  of  human  ingen- 
uity and  toil  were  therefore  frustrated  by  the 
rude  hostility  of  the  elements. 

The  pontoniers  had  thus  labored  fruitlessly 
through  the  whole  night,  often  immersed  up 
to  their  middles  in  water.  In  vain  had  they 
combatted  against  the  cold,  the  trenchant  ice, 
and  the  impetuosity  of  the  current.  Morning 
was  at  hand,  and  yet  there  was  not  a  single 
pile  standing ;  for  twice  had  everything  been 
borne  down,  after  bein^ constructed  with  the 
most  incredible  perseverance  and  care. 

As  night  wore  away,  and  the  bridge  mot 
completed,  nothing  was  to  be  expected  but 
that  the  sweeping  fire  from  the  opposite 
heights  would  destroy  all  their  slender  struc- 
tures; in  which  case  all  hopes  must  vanish. 


Rasinski's  troop  was  encamped  on  an  emi- 
nence, close  by  Studianka.  He  proceeded 
in  convpany  with  Hegnard  to  the  water's 
edge,  where  the  generals  were  engaged  in  a 
fruitless  -consultation,  trying  to  elinrinatc 
some  nesBs  of  escspe. 

There  were  standing  ia  a  group,  Mortier, 
Davoust,  Ney,  and  Eugene, fixing  their  trou- 
bled 'looks  on  the-epposite  bank,  from  whence 
shone  the  Russian  camp-fires,  like  so  many 
flaring  meteors  of  vengeajnce.  Even  the 
intrepid  Ney,  in  heavy  displeasure  at  the 
fickleness  of  fortune,  threw  out  this  re- 
mark: 

•*'  If  a  remedy  be  found  in  this  case,  the 
Emperor  must  indeed  ha-ve  fortune  chained 
to  Ws  car." 

On  a  sudden,  the  personage  alluded  to  ap- 
peared in  the  midst  cff  his  mar^ais.  He  had 
Come  with  his  guards  from  Borisoff,  and  when 
half-way  had  quietly  encamped.  Here  intel- 
ligence was  brought  to  him  repeatedly  of 
the  unavailing  efforts  made  to  complete  a 
bridge.  He  appeared,  therefore,  to  examine 
for  himself,  and  at  least  valiantly  wrestle  with 
the  evil. 

He  gave  his  Keutenants  a  sTiort,  hitt 
friendly  salatation ;  then,  in  his  usual  pre- 
cise manner,  inquired  into  every  circumstance 
connected  with  the  object  in  view. 

Rasinski  kept  his  eyes  fixed  en  the  ear- 
nest but  rigid  oountenanoe  of  this  wonderful 
man,  who  as  yet  had  not  yielded  to  destiny, 
but  only  studied  new  expedtentsto  avoid  that 
extremity.  Silence  prevailed  around  them. 
A  sadden  thought  flashed  like  lightning  upon 
the  .mind  of  Rasinski.  If  he  only  were 
saved,  nothing  more  would  be  lost  than  a 
great  army  ;  all  France — yea,  half  Enrope — 
would  arm  for  him  !  These  multitudes  are 
dead,  crumble  into  dust,  if  not  bound  together 
by  his  iron  energy ;  they  are  invincible  if 
inspired  by  his  genius.  Hundreds  of  thou- 
sands lie  already  stiff  in  these  sepulchres  of 
snow ;  what  does  it  matter  about  a  few  more 
or  less  ?  He  must  be  saved,  and  with  him 
all  may  be  restored  ! 

Inflamed  by  these  sentiments,  he  flies  to 
Marshal  Ney,  draws  him  aside,  and  reveals 
to  him  his  inmost  feeMngs.  The  undaunted 
warrior  seizes  upon  the  idea  ^vith  glowing 
interest.  In  his  own  behalf  he  would  prob- 
ably never  have  listened  to  such  a  proposi- 
tion from  bis  inferiors,  but  he  feels  kow  sim- 
ply as  a  soldier,  and  not  as  a  general.  "  If 
his  safety  is  attainable,"  he  exclaims,  *'it 
must  be  achieved  !" 

"  I  will  stake  my  head  on  its  success !" 
cried  Rasinski,  with  noble  enthusiasm.  "I 
know  every  winding  and  turn  from  this 
point,  and  so  do  my  Poles.  Every  one  of 
them  would  sacrifice  his  life  ten  times  over 
for  the  Emperor.    Farther  up  by  Wenselowa 


978 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


the  river  is  narrow.  We  swim  across  on 
our  horses,  and  before  break  of  day  we  can 
be  over.  In  live  days  t  bring  the  Empersr  to 
Wihia ;  there  Europe  lies  open  before  him, 
and  he  can  be  in  Paris  befoje  a  bieath  about 
our  destruction  can  have  passed  beyond  the 
barriers  of  Russia.  Marshal,  entreat  the 
Emperor !  His  safety  is  also  our  own  \  when 
Russia  learns  that  he  is  sending  forth  fresh 
armies  out  of  France,  we  shall  et  the  most 
be  'prisoners  of  war  ;  but,  should  the  Emperor 
share  our  lot,  we  shall  be  prisoners  of  state  with 
him  ;  and  you-  know  what  a  boundless  dun- 
geon Russia  possesses  for  such  unfortunates." 

Ilasinski's  fiery  zeal  completely  won  over 
the  marslial.  "-He  must  be  willing/'  he 
cried,  eagerly,  "and  not  a  moment  must  be 
lost !" 

The  Emperor  had  just  entered  a  cabin  that 
stood  on  the  bank.  Neyruns  after  him,^and 
there  he  finds  the  King  of  Naples  and  the 
Viceroy  of  Italy.  To  these  he  communi- 
cates Rasin ski's  plan.  They  both  receive  it 
joyfully,  and  resolving  jointly  to  disclose  it 
immediately  to  the  Emperor,. follow  him  into 
the  cabin. 

In' racking  anxiety  Rasinski  wait*  ioi  the 
result.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passes  by. 
Nobody  is  to  be  seen.  Already  it  is  begin- 
ning to  be  too  late.  Already  Rasinski  is  on 
the  point  of  going  in  to  the  Emperor  hjmself, 
when  Ney  comes  out,  walks  slowly  up  to 
him,  and  says  : 

"  Count  Rasinski,  the  Emperor  cannot  be 
moved  to  abandon  his^rmy.  W&will  tarry 
here  together  to  await  the  day,  the  enemy, 
and  our  destruction !" 

The  abrupt  manner  in  which  the  marshal 
spoke  proclaimed  his  deep  emotion  and  the 
restraint  he  put  upon  himself  not  to  betray 
it.  Rasinski  stood  rooted  to  the  ground. 
An  unspeakable  pain  shot  through  his  breast, 
but  it  was  not  a  warm  and  softening,  but  a  cold 
and  shuddering  feeling.  "^Did  you  tell  the 
Emperor — "  he  began,  but  was  instantly  in- 
terrupted by  the  marshal : 

"  Everything  !  Everything  that  reason 
and  affection  could  suggest }  the  King  of  Na- 
ples, the  Viceroy  of  Italy,  Davoust,  Mor- 
tier,  Rapp,  Count  Daru^even  Berthier — there 
was  nothing  left  undone  short  of  throwing 
ourselves  at  his  feet.  But  there  he  stood 
like  a  rock."  'The  soldier  has  placed  con- 
fidence in  me,  and  I  will  not  betray  ity'  was 
hiis  only  answer." 

"  And  Paris,  France,  Europe — were  these 
of  no  weight  in  the  scale  ?" 

"  '  The  most  pressing  danger  is  here,'  "  he 
said,  sharply ;  "  '  hence  I  do  not  stir  until 
that  danger  is  over.'  " 

''  Then  it  is  too  late !"  cried  Rasinski, 
nearly  beside  himself;  "permit  me  once 
more " 


"No,  Count,."  answered  the  marshal; 
"  the  Emperor  does  n»t  allow  himself  to  be 
swayed  by  entreaties." 

Of  his  great  chief's  danget  Rasinski  said 
no  more.  However  deeply  the  thought 
lacerated  his  bosom,  he  was  equally  pene- 
trated by  a  feelmg  of  lofty  admiratioa  for  his. 
firmoess. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

Thk  day  began  to  dawn.  Through  the- 
retreating  shadows  of  n%ht,  every  eye  was 
endeavoring  to  count  the  nwnber  of  enemies 
who  coftfponted  them.  Rasinski  and  Bo- 
leslausv  through  cover  of  the  undeiwood,. 
reached  a  small  elevation  from  whence  they 
could  overlook  the  river  and  the  winding* 
of  its  shores.  The  glow  of  the  Russian 
watch-fires  could  be  still  seen  through  the 
moming-mist.  All  was  yet  stfll  on  the- 
snow-covered  heights. 

"it  seems  to  me,"  observed  Rasinski, 
"those  fellows  should  be  stirring  by  this 
time;  or  have  they  withdrawn  behind  the- 
brow  of  the  hills  V^ 

"  As  well  as  I  can  judge,^  the  watch-fires 
are  abandoned,"  answered  Boleslaus;  "at 
least  those  nearest  to  us.  Those  along  the 
edge  of  the  wood  may  be  patronised." 

"  Probably  they  dw  not  -choose  to  be  ex- 
posed to  our  artillery,"  answered  Rasinski ; 
"  but  I  do  not  see  their  cannon." 

They  rode  a  few  htmdred  paces  feirther  or» 
to  the  summit  of  a  hill  nearer  the  river. 
The  wind  had  in  the  mean  time  scattered  the 
fog,  and  the  air  become  clear. 

"  By  the  great  God  above !"  exclaimed  Ra- 
sinski, staring  around  in  astonishment,  "  the 
position  is  abandoned !" 

"I  see  some  horsemen  on  the  hill  there  to 
the  right,"  observed  Boleslaus ;  "  they  seem 
also  to  be  reconnoitring.    I,etus  join  them." 

They  repaired  thither,  and  found  Ney, 
RegiKtrd,  and  some  othier  o^ers.  They 
shared  Rasinski's  surprise  at  finding  the  op- 
posite shore  quite  clear  of  troops.  Suddenly 
Regnard  cried  out :  "  I  see  troops  marching^ 
over  there,  towards  Borisoff ;  it  is  a  strong- 
column.  Rasinski,  you  have  the  eye  of  a 
fialcon  ;  what  do  you  say ;  is  mrt  that  Rus- 
sian cavalry  T' 

Rasin^i  put  his  hands  before  his  eyes  to 
screen  them  from  the  sun  just  then  rising, 
looked  keenly  ahead,  and  exclaimed  :  "  It  is 
artillery  and  infantry ;  I  see  two  columns ; 
they  are  marching  towards  BorfeoflT" 

"  Can  it  be  that  our  enemy  is  retiring  V* 
cried  Ney,  in  a  tone  of  incredulity.  "  ft  is 
inexplicable." 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


279 


"It  can  no  longer  be  doubted,"  said  Rasinski. 

"  Then  the  Emperor's  star  is  yet  in  the  as- 
cendant !"  cried  the  marshal,  his  eyes  radiant 
with  joy;  "this  must  be  reported  imme- 
diately." 

They  all  galloped  towards  the  bridge, 
where  the  Emperor  was  standing,"  urging  and 
encouraging  the  workmen. 

Officers  who  had  been  sent  out  to  recon- 
noitre now  came  in  from  every  side.  No  one 
had  discovered  the  enemy. 

"It  seems,  then,  we  have  succeeded  in 
deceiving  Tsckitschagoff,"  the  Empieror  re- 
marked. "  We  must  try  tp  catch  a  prisoner 
who  can  give  us  certain  information."   , 

Rasinski  offered  himself  to  procure  one. 
He  immediately  spurred  up  the  stream,  ac- 
companied by  Boleslaus;  took  with  him  a 
few  chasseurs,  and  swam  with  them  across 
the  river.  On  reaching  the  opposite  heights, 
they  found  allthe  signs  indicating  that  a 
considerable  force  had  encamped  there  over 
night.  Most  of  the  fires  were  still  burning. 
It  v/as  seen  that  they  had  been  left  carefully 
fed,  so  that  their  blaze  might  deceive 
the  French.  The  tracks  left  by  the  troops 
were  easily  discerned,  and  led  in  a  southerly 
direction.  Rasinski  followed  the  track,  rap- 
idly, but  with  caution ;  as  he  emerged  from  a 
small  patch  of  woodland,  he  perceived  a  few 
scattered  Cossacks  on  the  other  side.  He  at- 
tacked them,  whereupon  they  fled ;  but  one  of 
them  fell  with  his  horse  on  the  slippery  ice, 
and  was  seized  by  Rasinski,  who  instantly 
returned  with  his  prize. 

On  the  way,  he  que-stioned  his  prisoner 
very  closely,  and  learned  that,  during  the 
night.  General  Tschaplitz,  with  ten  thousand 
men  and  thirty  cannon,  had  occupied  the 
heights  opposite  Studianka,  but  towards 
morning  he  had,  by  command  of  Tschitscha- 
goff,  broken  up  and  proceeded  over  Borisoff, 
towards  Berezino.  This  confirmation  of  his 
conjecture  rejoiced  his  heart,  as  safety  was 
now  within  reach,  provided  the  passage 
could  be  effected  iii  the  course  of  the 
day.  "  Cheer  up,  Boleslaus !"  he  exclaimed, 
"  our  sun  still  shines.  Fortune  has  this  day 
shown  that  she  forsakes  not  the  Emperor !" 

Rasinski,  impatient  to  impart  his  informa- 
tion to  the  Emperor,  spurred  on  his  horse, 
re-crossed  the  stream,  and  related  what  he 
had  seen  and  acquired. 

The  Emperor  received  the  intelligence 
with  gratified  looks,  but  with  the  same  com- 
posure with  which  yesterday  he  listened  to 
the  recital  of  the  most  untoward  mishaps. — 
He  instantly  gave  orders  to  push  the  com- 
pletion of  the  bridge  to  the  utmost.  The 
structure  was  so  far  advanced  that  two  piers 
were  erected  and  united  by  cross-beams; 
the  work  must  advance  rapidly,  and  General 
Eble  promised  to  have  it  completed  by  noon. 


Troops  were  meanwhile  pouring  in  from 
all  quarters.  The  town  of  Studianka  itself 
was  crowded  with  cannon,  ammunition- 
carts,  baggage-wagons,  and  the  effects  of 
the  Emperor,  the  marshals,  and  the  other 
officers ;  so  were  also  the  roads  leading  to 
the  little  place,  and  the  surrounding  heights. 
Rasinski  beheld  with  much  concern  this 
disorderly  accumulation,  which  could  be 
accounted  for  only  by  the  breach  of  all  re- 
gulation. To  effect  anything  like  order  and 
organization  at  this  moment,  seemed  an  im- 
possibility. The  released  horses  were  seen 
dropping  down  on  the  snow,  perfectly  ex- 
hausted, and  ravenously  devouring  chopped 
half-rotten  straw,  or  whatever  else  bore  the 
semblance  of  feed.  The  drivers  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  huts  around,  or  by  the  fires 
wherever  they  could  find  room.  When  now 
this  complicated  and  confused  hive  should 
begin  to  move — when  wagons  were  breaking 
down,  horses  falling,  the  narrow  roads 
blocked  up — when  haste  and  eagerness  to 
escape  would  deprive  the  people  of  all  sense 
and  reflection — and  when,  as  so  often  had 
happened  during  this  disastrous  retreat, 
every  person  sacrificed  the  well-being  of  the 
whole  for  personal  interest — then  it  was  to 
be  feared,  that,  however  favorable  an  as- 
pect things  had  assumed,  mischief  and  ter- 
ror would  reach  their  acme,  and  leave  an 
awful  monument  on  the  banks  of  this  river. 
Such  were  the  apprehensions  of  Rasinski — 
to  be  too  terribly  verified  in  the  event. 

Just  as  he  was  riding  up  the  hill  on  which 
his  men  were  encamped,  he  heard  the  dull, 
sepulchral  report  of  a  field-piece  in  the  di- 
rection of  Borisoff.  It  was  in  a  few  mo- 
ments followed  by  the  opening  of  a  regular 
cannonade. 

"  Dost  thou  hear,  Boleslaus  1"  he  said, 
"  they  are  fighting  yonder.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  the  storm  will  not  burst  upon  us 
to-day." 

Boleslaus  listened  attentively,  and  then 
said  :  "  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  deceiv- 
ed by  the  wind,  but  I  think  I  hear  artillery 
firing  in  the  other  direction  also.  There, 
again  !     There  towards  Niamanitza !" 

A  heavy  cloud  crossed  Rasinski's  brow. 
"  It  is,  then,  determined  !"  he  gasped. — 
"  Three  Russian  armies  are  on  the  point  of 
uniting.  We  have  only  two  days'  reprieve  !" 

The  firing  became  more  animated.  A 
serious  engagement  must  have  begun.  If 
the  Russians  should  succeed  in  overthrow- 
ing Victor's  division,  the  enemy  would  press 
furiously  on  the  rear,  and  thfc  remnants  oi 
the  Grand  Armie  would  be  destroyed. — 
Rasinski  saw  that  this  was  inevitable,  and 
full  of  troubled  thoughts  he  returned  to  his 
own  troop. 

A  general  rejoicing  prevailed  here,  on  ac- 


280 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


count  of  the  enemy  having  left  the  opposite 
bank.  They  haJ  heard  the  distant  firing  of 
cannon,  but  did  not  think  the  danger  was 
near. 

The  firing  did  indeed  cease  ;  and  towards 
noon  all  was  again  still.  At  one  o'clock 
intelligence  was  brought  that  the  bridge  in- 
tended for  the  infantry  was  finished,  and 
that  the  Brigade  of  Legrand,  with  their  artil- 
lery, were  passing  under  the  eye  of  the  Em- 
peror himself.  The  other  bridge  was  also 
nearly  completed. 

Already  there  commenced  a  convulsive 
stir  and  pressure  among  the  crowds,  as  every 
one  wished  to  be  the  first  irt  attaining  the 
opposite  shore.  But  the  Emperor  was  still 
in  Studianka  ;  there  were  too  many  regular 
troops  on  the  ground  ;  and  the  heaps  of  poor 
disarmed  wandering  stragglers  were  not  yet 
so  increased  that  they  could  carry  all  before 
them  in  the  rush  for  deliverance.  Towards 
three  o'clock,  the  cannonading  was  again 
heard,  but  nearer  and  sharper  than  in  the 
morning.  The  fight  evidently  was  ap- 
proaching ;  it  seemed  probable  that  with  the 
setting  in  of  night  the  columns  would  be 
driven  back  on  Studianka.  In  the  mean- 
time the  artillery,  with  their  ammunition- 
wagons,  and  some  detachments  of  infantry, 
were  seen  in  two  black  files  crossing  the 
Berezina.  Everything  appeared  to  proceed 
in  such  order,  that  hopes  were  entertained 
that  the  greater  part  of  the  baggage  and  the 
wounded  on  the  wagons,  for  which  one  of 
the  bridges  was  particularly  intended,  would 
be  landed  on  the  other  side  before  midnight. 

Rasinslci  now  counselled  Bernard  to  keep 
close  to  Bianca's  wagon  in  the  train  of 
mardi,  so  as  to  escape  being  drawn  into  the 
vortex  of  confusion,  when  the  arrival  of  the 
approaching  columns,  or  perhaps  of  the  ene- 
my, would  inevitably  create  redoubled  con- 
fusion. Louis  and  Bernard  parted  from  Ra- 
sinski  with  feelings  of  anxiety  and  regret ; 
but  they  had  to  consider  that  he  most  likely 
would  be  among  the  very  last  to  pass  over. 
Full  of  dismal  forebodings,  they  bade  each 
other  a  sorrowful  farewell,  and  accompanied 
the  wagon  which  was  driven  by  Willhofen 
down  towards  the  bridge.  Twilight  came. 
The  file  of  wagons  advanced  but  slowly ; 
near  the  river  there  was  an  immense  crowd 
of  vehicles,  among  which  it  was  already 
useless  to  think  of  maintaining  a  line  ;  but 
each  one,  as  he  was  able  to  extricate  himself 
from  the  mass  and  to  gain  the  bridge,  passed 
over. 

Bianca  threw  her  anxious  looks  over  this 
tumultuous  assemblage  of  men,  horses,  wag- 
ons and  sleds;  growling,  calling  and  screech- 
ing, increased  every  minute  as  night  advanc- 
ed— heightening  the  agonizing  impression 
made  by  this  indescribable  spectacle.  I 


*'  Oh,  my  friends,"  said  Bianca  to  Bernard 

and  Louis,  in  a  gentle  tone,  "  unless  you 
were  near  me,  how  soon  I  would  be  lost  in 
this  dreadful  commotion !" 

A  knot  of  soldiers  now  pointed  towards 
the  snow-covered  hills  alongside  the  river — 
while  the  eager  talking  that  prevailed  indi- 
cated that  something  important  engaged  their 
attention. 

The  friends  could  not  at  first  imagine 
what  it  might  be,  but  all  at  once  Bernard 
noticed  a  reddish  glare  spreading  over  the 
snow,  which  seemed  to  enlarge  and  become 
brighter  every  moment. 

"  Borisofi  is  in  fiames !"  cried  Willhofen. 

"  Dost  thou  think  so  ?"  said  Bernard. 

"  It  can  be  no  other  place ;  it  lies  right 
over  there,  I  know  !" 

The  flames  shot  up  higher,  and  gradually 
jbecame  observable  to  all  who  were  assem- 
bled on  the  bank,  and  while  the  general  atten- 
tion was  directed  toward  this  new  sight,  the 
din  of  voices  ceased  for  a  few  minutes.  In 
this  interval  the  loud  pealing  of  cannon  was 
heard  from  the  same  quarter.  The  contest 
going  on  was  evidently  for  the  possession 
of  Borisoff — less  than  two  hours'  march  dis- 
tant. 

The  thought  that  the  enemy  would  come 
upon  them  that  very  night,  now  made  con- 
fusion worse  confounded.  This  reflection 
seemed  to  spring  up  simultaneously  in  every 
mind.  The  wagons  drove  furiously  from 
three  different  points  to  the  contracted  avenue 
leading  to  the  bridge ;  they  rushed  against 
each  other,  breaking  wheels  and  axles, 
turned  over,  and  thus  obstructed  the  road. — ■ 
Those  behind  threw  themselves  in  a  rage 
upon  those  before  who  were  so  unfortunate 
as  to  break  down  and  block  up  the  way.— 
Those  sitting  on  the  wagons  were  flung  out 
on  the  snow  without  mercy,  and  the  wagons 
themselves  dashed  into  pieces,  to  open  the 
path.  Horses  and  men  were  thrown  in 
heaps  on  the  top  of  each  other,  in  promiscu- 
ous confusion.  Howling  and  raving  rent 
the  air.  The  cavalry  came  dashing  into  the 
midst,  trying  to  restore  some  order,  dealing 
out  heavy  blows  of  the  sabre  upon  those 
who  tried  to  break  in  upon  the  line  from 
without ;  but  hardly  were  they  driven  back 
at  one  point  before  three-fold  mischief  broke 
in  at  another.  The  wounded  were  thrown 
under  the  wheels,  uttering  piercing  cries  for 
help,  which  were  drowned  in  the  savage 
yells  with  which  those  urged  on  their  teams 
who  were  near  the  object  of  their  solicitude, 
and  where  one  last  effort  would  enable  them 
to  attain  it. 

"  Holy  father,  how  is  this  to  end !"  ex- 
claimed Bianca,   turning  pale,   and   almost 
unconsciously   hugging    the    crying  child, 
firmer  to  her  bosom. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


281 


"  Be  calm,  dearest !"  said  Louis  kindly, 
"this  is  only  a  first  ebullition  of  terror; 
every  one  must  be  aware  that  in  this  man- 
ner they  only  hasten  their  ruin." 

"  Oh,  let  us  rather  go  back  again  to  Ra- 
sinski,"  she  mildly  entreated ;  "  I  renounce 
this  horrid  way  of  escape  over  the  mangled 
bosoms  of^  helpless  sick  and  wounded.  I 
had  rather  meet  death  from  the  enemy's  can- 
non than  to  proceed  on  this  pathway  of 
gore !" 

"To  return  is  impossible,  Bianca,'-  replied 
Louis,  turning  his  eyes  around.  ''  Look, 
and  thou  wilt  see  how  these  heights  and 
every  path  of  egress  are  covered  with  vehi- 
cles and  human  beings ;  it  were  easier  to  dig 
a  way  thorough  the  sqlid  rock,  than  to  force 
one's  way  through  this  dreadful  labyrinth  !" 

Bianca  sat  motionless  in  mute  suffering, 
keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  child  in  her 
||pip,  which  had  become  quite  restless.  She 
caressed  the  child  to  keep  it  quiet.  Jean- 
nette  sat  beside  her,  more  like  a  corpse  than 
a  breathing  creature,  not  venturing  to  utter 
a  word.  Opposite  to  the  women  sat  two 
officers,  insensible  to  the  horrors  that 
reigned  around,  by  reason  of  a  raging  fever, 
superinduced  by  some  deep  wounds  in 
the  head.  Amid  such  anguish  of  fears 
and  troubles,  the  minutes  sped  tardily 
along.  t 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

Suddenly  a  terrible  crash  was  heard,  and 
directly  after  a  loud  scream  of  terror  rent  the 
air.  Every  eye  was  instantly  turned  to  the 
place  whence  the  piercing  cry  came,  aind 
every  tongue  became  mute  when  it  was  ob- 
served that  the  bridge  had  broken  down 
under  its  accumulated  burden,  tearing  away 
several  arches  by  the  concussion.  This 
could  be  seen  only  from  the  higher  points 
nearest  the  shore  ;  while  by  far  the  greater 
number  of  those  already  on  the  bridge 
and  on  the  depressed  shore,  suspecting 
nothing  of  the  misfortune,  pressed  on 
with  furious  infatuation,  pushing  those 
who  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice 
madly  into  the  stream.  The  unfortunates 
clung  in  vain  to  the  fragments  of  the  bridge ; 
in  vain  they  besought  pity,  vdth  heart-rend- 
ing cries — there  remained  no  longer  a  choice; 
those  compassionately  inclined  were  piished 
forward,  and  thus  became  accessory  to  the 
destruction  of  their  comrades,  and  the  next 
moment  were  themselves  hurled  in  the  same 
manner  into  the  inexorable  element.  Fear 
generated  i.-^ge  and  phrensy.      Those  who 


considered  themselves  lost  were  turned  into 
sanguinary  tigers,  drew  their  swords,  and 
rushed  back  into  the  dense  mass  of  their 
countrymen,  to  open  for  themselves  a  way 
to  the  shore.  Thus  a  revolting  contest  arose, 
a  mad  and  indiscriminate  butchering  among 
friends  and  countrymen;  the  retrograding 
stream  of  the  crowd  fought  with  those  press- 
ing forward,  through  which  means  a  fright- 
ful intermingling  stagnated  on  the  centre  of 
the  bridge.  The  frightened  horses  reared  or 
sought  for  an  escape  sideways,  and  thus 
plunged  with  the  wagons  over  the  broken 
railing  into  the  stream.  Nothing  was  au- 
dible but  cries  of  distress,  agony  and  rage. 

The  true  state  of  things  became,  of  course, 
finally  known.  A  deep  and  anxious  silence 
prevailed  while  the  bridge  was  being  repair- 
ed. It  would  seem  that  the  disaster  just 
witnessed  ought  to  serve  as  an  impressive 
lesson  to  the  surviving :  every  thing  possible 
was  done  to  enforce  more  regular  order.  But 
now  the  obscurity  of  the  night  increased  the 
difficulty  of  piloting  the  interminable  crowds, 
the  smallest  portion  of  whom  alone  could 
know  what  had  taken  place.  Every  one 
was  led  to  his  fate  as  it  were  blind-folded, 
and  the  bandage  was  not  torn  from  his  eyes 
until  he  found  himself  struggling  in  the  tur- 
bulent waters. 

Suddenly  the  distressing  noise  and  tumult 
which  ascended  from  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
was  interrupted  by  a  loud  firing  of  cannon. 
The  flames  of  burning  Borisoff  rose  higher 
in  forked  tongues ;  the  glowing  lava  of  the 
battle  seemed  to  come  slowly  rolling  on  from 
that  quarter.  While  they  were  listening  to 
the  thunder  of  this  hurricane,  another  vol- 
cano commenced  belching  forth  flames  and 
death  from  another  side. 

This  second  engagement  had  undoubtedly 
commenced  just  before  the  gates  of  Studian- 
ka,  or  perhaps  on  the  heights  where  Rasin- 
ski  was  stationed,  as  the  clangor  of  the  con- 
flict was  heard  close  at  hand .  This  supposi- 
tion was  strengthened  by  the  appearance  of 
aids  galloping  to  the  Emperor,  who  still  tar- 
ried with  composure  on  the  shore.  Other  mes- 
sengers were  sent  back  in  haste — everything 
demonstrated  that  important  events  were 
transpiring. 

The  utmost  efforts  were  used  to  repair  the 
bridge,  hut  still  the  Emperor  dispatched  offi- 
cers, one  after  another,  to  hasten  on  the  work. 
The  cannonading  continued  in  the  meantime 
with  short  intervals,  but  did  not  come  nearer. 

It  was  past  midnight.  The  unfortunate 
creatures  on  the  shore  had  mostly  sunk  into 
slumber,  from  the  over-taxed  exertion  of 
their  physical  powers ;  but  cold  and  hunger, 
and  above  all,  a  cutting  north-easter,  which 
became  more  and  more  violent,  freezing 
i  everything  it  touched,  soon  impelled  them  to 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


seek  for  other  shelter.  They  hid  themselves 
under  the  wagons,  crept  in  between  the 
horses,  to  thaw  their  frozen  limbs  by  the 
animal  heat,  and  piled  themselves  in  heaps 
one  upon  another.  On  a  sudden  a  red  glare 
illumined  this  sad  night-piece,  casting  a 
blood-tinged  reflection  over  the  snowy  hills. 
On  looking  around,  the  village  of  Studianka 
was  seen  in  a  blaze.  Those  unfortunates 
from  the  heights  by  the  river,  who  had  been 
able  to  crawl  back  thus  far,  had  sought 
shelter  in  the  village ;  but  the  huts  were 
crowded  to  overflowing,  and  the  bitterness 
of  the  cold  night  augmented  with  the  wind. 
There  was  no  wood  near  to  be  found,  and 
consequently,  driven  to  desperation,  they  tore 
down  the  miserajble  houses  over  the  heads 
of  those  who  had  taken  refuge  within  them, 
and  made  fires  from  the  roofs,  planks  and 
boards,  to  warm  themselves  by. 

The  Emperor  was  highly  incensed  at  this 
conduct,  which  tended  to  betray  to  the  enemy 
the  place  where  the  passage  over  the  river 
was  constructing,  and  thus  bring  about  the 
destruction  of  the  whole.  But  the  deed  was 
done. 

The  regular  troops  defiled  the  whole  night 
over  the  uninjured  bridge ;  and  it  was  now 
used  for  the  transportation  of  artillery  also, 
while  the  other  was  closed  and  under  repair. 
It  was  hoped  that  when  these  repairs  were 
completed,  the  passage  would  be  effected 
with  more  order,  both  because  the  crowd  on 
the  bank  had  somewhat  diminished,  and  also 
because  recent  sad  experience  would  serve 
as  a  lesson  for  the  future.  But  then  a  fresh- 
cause  of  mischief  showed  itself;  a  long  file 
of  wagons,  laden  with  soldiers  grievously 
wounded,  followed  by  women  and  others 
less  severely  injured,  on  foot,  arrived  un- 
expectedly at  the  rendezvous.  They  were 
all  the  very  images  of  wretchedness,  tor- 
mented by  cold,  hunger  and  disease,  and  ex- 
cruciating bodily  pains.  All  were  astonish- 
ed, and  ask  whence  they  came  ?  From 
Borisoff",  where  in  the  night  the  greater  por- 
tion of  General  Parthouneau's  brigade  had 
been  made  prisoners  by  the  enemy.  The 
rest  had  succeeded  in  effecting  their  escape ; 
they  retreated  before  the  pursuing  Russians, 
preceded  by  these  wounded  creatures,  and 
an  infinite  multitude  of  disarmed,  half-starved 
stragglers,  all  coming  to  seek  safety  here. — 
Scarcely  were  these  explanations  elicited, 
when  dense  black  columns  were  seen  cover- 
ing the  heights  and  th'e  bank  of  the  river. 

It  is  observed  by  the  faint  light  from  the 
burning  huts  of  Studianka,  and  by  the  glim- 
mer of  the  snow  and  the  stars,  that  there  are 
many  thousands  drawing  near  in  irregular 
bands.  No  sooner  do  these  behold  armed 
fellow-soldiers  before  them,  from  whom  they 
hope  to  receive  shelter  and  protection,  than 


they  rush  in  their  midst  in  wild  commotion 
and  haste,  as  if  the  enemy  were  already  at 
their  heels.  With  uplifted  hands,  and  sunken 
cheeks,  pale,  reeling  from  cold,  terror  and 
exhaustion,  the  savage  glare  of  ravenous 
pinching  hunger  in  their  looks,  these  un- 
happy creatures,  in  hoarse,  moaning  accents, 
beg  for  food  and  a  shelter.  Touched  with 
commisseration,  no  one  at  first  is  willing  to 
repulse  them  ;  but  they  press  in  ever-increas- 
ing numbers  so  violently  onward  as  to  break 
the  orderly  ranks  of  the  soldiers,  and  carry 
confusion  before  them  among  the  troops; 
and  when  finally  they  get  a  view  of  the 
bridge  before  them,  they  rush  in  delirious 
haste  to  this  plank  of  safety,  and  thus 
threaten  a  repetition  of  yesterday's  tragedy. 
At  this  moment,  fresh  intelligence  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Russians  comes  in,  and  as  it  is 
also  reported  that  the  wagon-bridge  is  again 
in  serviceable  order,  the  Emperor  orders  the** 
Guards  to  pass  over  on  both  bridges.  He 
mounts  his  horse,  and  places  himself  at  their  " 
head,  in  order  to  gain  the  opposite  shore, 
and  march  to  Brilowa — for  even  there,  alas  ! 
the  enemy's  presence  is  ex'pected.  This 
order  to  march  sets  every  thing  in  motion. 
Every  one  things  that  the  propitious  mo- 
ment for  securing  his  own  safety  has  iir- 
rived,  and  consequently  they  push  and 
worry,  including  the  late  comers,  half-insane 
from  fear,  to  gain  access  into  the  narrow 
avenues  leading  to  the  bridges.  No  argu- 
ments or  opposition  can  stop  them  ;  the  well- 
knit  ranks  of  the  Old  Guard  are  broken 
asunder;  strange  wagons  crowd  in  among 
their  train  of  artillery ;  all  order  again  dis- 
appears— and  the  most  inextricable  confusion 
threatens  the  destruction  of  all.  The  Em- 
peror's authority  even  fails  to  open  him  a 
passage.  The  approach  to  the  first  bridge 
is  encumbered  and  choked  up  by  stragglers 
and  wounded,  baggage-wagons,  women  and 
children — and  the  living  surge  press  on  so 
furiously  and  perseveringly,  that  no  passage 
can  be  effected  without  resorting  to  violence. 
Stem  necessity  gives  birth  to  the  most  ter- 
rible resolves.  Troops  of  cavalry  must 
charge  upon  the  mad,  unhappy  multitude, 
and  repel  them  with  the  edge  of  the  sword . 
With  shuddering  reluctance  they  execute  the 
order  which  compels  them  to  shed  the  blood 
of  helpless  comrades,  and  to  mangle  their 
falling  bodies  with  the  horses'  hoofs.  Pierc- 
ing cries  of  anguish,  which  drown  even  the 
shrieking  northerly  blast,  rend  the  welkin, 
and  as  if  to  push  horror  to  extremity,  the 
thunder  of  the  enemy's  guns  is  heard  once 
more.  The  path  is  now  open.  A  detach- 
ment of  cavalry  rides  forward  ;  then  follows 
the  Emperor,  surrounded  by  his  officers, 
the  guards  closing  up  behind ;  but  the 
nearer  and  louder  the  hostile  cannon  on  the 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


heights  roar,  the  more  vehemently  crowds 
of  fugitives  press  upon  the  troops.  Nothing 
but  their  compact  and  well-directed  front  of 
resistance  can  keep  them  at  bay — and  hun- 
dreds are  destined  to  fall  in  the  sickening 
and  unnatural  contest. 

With  first  dawn  of  morn  the  last  columns 
reach  the  bridge,  and  the  sable  curtain  of 
night  is  gradually  withdrawn  from  the  pic- 
ture, revealing  to  the  eyes  of  day  the  secrets 
it  has  helped  to  conceal.  Mangled  and 
mutilated  bodies,  broken  pieces  of  gun-car- 
riages and  wagons,  dead  horses,  who  in  their 
last  agony  had  rolled  over  still  bleeding 
human  remains,  were  strewed  everywhere, 
covering  the  deep  declivities  which  descend 
to  the  stream  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge. 
Half-immersed  wretches  are  seen  jammed  in 
between  the  pieces  of  ice  drifted  and  sta- 
tionary along  the  rocky  shore.  When  the 
sickened  eye  turned  away  from  these  objects 
of  horror,  it  recoiled  yet  more  appalled  from 
beholding  the  living  covering  the  shore ;  for 
it  could  discover  nothing  but  an  immense 
congregation  of  spectres,  from  whose  sunken 
and  half-extinguished  eyes  gleamed  the 
phrensy  of  despair;  running  against  each 
other,  weeping,  and  vomiting  forth  howls 
and  curses — writhing  under  their  own  suffer- 
ings, but  impregnable  to  those  of  their  bro- 
thers. Every  step  and  movement  among 
them  is  dictated  solely  by  an  unbridled  ani- 
mal instinct  of  self-preservation.  Many  are, 
however,  among  them  who  can  no  longer 
summon  up  strength  of  body  or  will  to  at- 
tempt this,  but  sit  like  corpses  motionless  on 
the  ice-bound  earth,  staring  fixedly  before 
them  on  the  spot  which  is  so  soon  to  be 
their  grave.  The  outcries  of  woe  and  pain 
proceeding  from  crushed  and  dismembered 
wretches,  or  from  those  who  had  been 
plunged  into  the  river  and  carried  away  by 
its  crashing  icebergs,  the  blasphemies  and 
yells  of  the  most  hardened,  who,  scrambling 
over  the  remains  of  their  fallen  brethren, 
cleared  an  outlet  for  themselves,  were  the 
only  sounds  to  be  heard  in  this  great  slaugh- 
ter-house, and  the  only  attendants  on  the 
last  wild  and  agonizing  throes  of  vitality. — 
But  the  scene  was  to  assume  a  yet  more 
terrific  character.  All  of  a  sudden,  peals  of 
thunder,  like  those  of  the  Last  Judgment, 
burst  over  the  devoted  heads  of  these  vic- 
tims. Those  even  who  had  sunk  into  the 
very  depth  of  hopelessness,  were  started  out 
of  their  apathy.  They  saw  the  hills  around 
them  reeking  with  black  columns  of  smoke ; 
the  battle  raged  over  their  heads.  As  if  a 
demon  of  blindness  and  panic  terror  had 
burst  in  upon  them,  and  chased  them  into 
indiscriminate  flight,  they  now  rolled  in 
dense  masses  towards  the  river  and  the 
bridges,  void  of  all  forethought  or  calculation 


about  the  possibility  or  likelihood  of  escape. 
And  as  if  the  caverns  of  the  earth  had  opened, 
the  advancing  torrent  was  multiplied  by 
floods  of  fugitives,  who,  worsted  by  the  mur- 
derous conflict,  came  pouring  down  from  the 
heights  around  Studianka  and  Borisoff. 

Bianca,  almost  fainting  from  terror  and 
pain,  slowly  turned  her  head  toward  the 
sulphurous  heights. 

"  Dost  thou  think,  my  brother,  "  she  asked 
Bernard  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  fearful  of  hear- 
ing the  answer,  "dost  think  that  the  noble 
REisinski  is  present  in  this  engagement  1" 

"  It  cannot  be  otherwise,  sister,"  answer- 
ed Bernard. 

"  Then  my  heart  bids  him  its  last  adieu!" 
she  said  in  a  tone  of  gentle  firmness. 

"  Why  so  T"  demanded  Louis. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest  friend  !"  answered  Bian- 
ca, "  I  do  certainly  devoutly  put  my  trust  in 
God  ;  but  it  seems  like  presumption,  in  my 
view,  to  hope  for  our  own  rescue  out  of  this 
all-consuming  vwtex,  and  equally  so  that 
he  should  escape  out  of  the  raging  contest." 

His  sister's  rising  sorrow  and  despondency 
stimulated  the  fortitude  in  Bernard's  bosom. 
"  Be  of  good  courage !"  he  replied ;  "  thou 
hast  hitherto  never  played  a  game  where 
the  stakes  are  one  against  one.  I  have  just 
as  much  hope  of  winning  as  of  losing.  And 
our  game  stands  prosperously,  for  we  have 
at  least  cast  our  anchor  here  in  the  snow, 
and  our  moorings  will  prove  staunch  against 
those  mountain  torrents  that  come  rushing 
down.  They  must  exhaust  themselves  some 
time  or  other,  and  then  we  will  have  elbow- 
room  enough." 

"  It  looks  like  it  with  a  vengeance  !"  ven- 
tured Willhofen,  as  he  pointed  to  a  hill 
which  commanded  the  valley,  and  on  which 
a  battery  of  flying  artillery  just  then  drew 
up. 

"Can  those  be  Russians  1"  asked  Bernard, 
the  words  faltering  on  his  lips. 

He  had  barely  uttered  these  words  when  a 
flash  was  seen  from  the  first  gun,  and  in  five 
seconds  the  dull  sound  of  the  report  rever- 
berated among  the  snowy  hills  all  around. — 
Immediately  the  ball  struck  with  destructive 
fury  right  among  the  thickest  part  of  the 
crowd  before  the  bridge — when  they  scatter- 
ed, terrified,  on  every  side.  They  had  no  time 
left  them  to  collect  their  senses  and  form  an 
estimate  of  their  new  terror,  for  a  second 
shot  followed  directly,  and  then  a  whole 
salvo,  which  tore  open  the  most  frightful 
gaps. 

Bianca  held  both  hands  before  her  face  and 
breathed  convulsively.  Louis  and  Bernard 
went  up  to  her,  endeavoring  to  quiet  her  by 
gentle  persuasives  and  consolation.  Jean- 
nette  sat  pale  and  trembling  ;  she  could  not 
speak,  though  her  lips  quivered,  as  if  she 


S84 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OH, 


wished  to  do  so.    The  child  nestled  itself, 
frightened,  in  Bianca's  bosom. 

All  at  once,  occurred  a  crashing  and  peal- 
ing like  the  shock  of  an  earthquake.  A 
round  shot  had  struck  the  fore  part  of 
the  wagon,  torn  it  in  pieces,  and  thrown 
the  two  officers,  dreadfully  mangled,  to  the 
ground. 

The  frightened  horses  reared  furiously, 
and  would  have  upset  the  carriage  had  not 
the  pole  and  fore-axle  been  in  splinters. 
Willhofen  sprang  forward  to  hold  them  ; 
Louis  and  Bernard  hurried  to  his  assistance. 
With  streaming  hair,  Jeannette  had  already 
leaped  from  the  cart,  and  Bianca,  uncon- 
scious of  what  she  did,  followed  her  ex- 
ample, still  closely  clasping  the  infant. 

"  Is  it  alive  T"  cried  a  voice,  and  at  the 
name  moment  she  felt  herself  seized  from 
behind.  She  turned,  and  Regnard  stood  be- 
fore her,  his  right  arm  in  a  sling :  he  had  just 
made  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  carts. 

"  Oh !  I  have  you  then  at  last,"  he 
tenderly  exclaimed,  kissing  and  caressing  his 
child  as  she  lay  in  the  arms  of  Bianca — who, 
stunned  with  terror  and  the  recent  shock, 
scarce  thought  of  wondering  at  his  unexpect- 
ed appearance. 

"You    here,    colonel!'     cried    Bernard. 
"  How  and  whence  came  you  ?" 

"  From  the  fight  up  yonder,"  replied  Reg- 
nard.    "  'Tis  awful  work  ;  our  fellows  stand 
like  the  walls  of  Troy ;  but  all  must  soon  be 
overthrown,  for  the  Russians  bury  us  under 
•  their  bullets." 

"  Did  you  see  Rasinski  ? — Is  he  alive  ? 
— And  Boleslaus  and  Jaromir  1" 

"  They  fight  like  lions,  like  devils,  those 
Poles ;  but  it's  all  in  vain,  we  cannot  hold  out 
another  hour.  And  this  defile  over  the 
bridge  looks  about  as  tempting  as  the  jaws 
of  hell!" 

"  You  are  wounded,  colonel  T" 

"  My  right  arm  shattered.  My  horse  was 
knocked  over  by  a  shell ;  I  dragged  myself 
as  far  as  Studianka  to  seek  a  doctor,  and 
found  ashes  and  corpses,  no  longer  of  use  in 
the  fight.  I  thought  I  would  have  a  trial  to 
cross  the  bridge.  I  saw  these  carriages  from 
above :  I  knew  you  had  driven  up  here  yes- 
terday. If  I  could  only  find  you,  I  thought, 
and  get  a  last  look  at  my  little  daughter ! 
Laugh  at  me,  if  you  like — but  the  thought 
came  like  a  whisper  from  heaven.  '  Perhaps 
it  is  the  last  wish  you  will  see  fulfilled,'  said 
I  to  myself.  And  as  if  some  invisible  guide 
had  led  me,  I  made  my  way  to  your  very 
carriage,  just  as  the  twelve-pounder  played 
you  the  trick.  Only  see  now  how  hearty  the 
child  is  !  it  grows  like  its  mother !  Ah  !  if 
I  only  had  something  for  you,  poor  darling ! 
Were  we  but  in  Paris,  that  I  might  give  you 
a  pocketful  of  bonbons !"  *        I 


And  in  fondling  and  chattering  with  the 
infant,  he  forgot  Doth  his  crushed  arm  and 
the  destruction  that  raged  so  actively  around. 
The  storm  of  shot  had  no  terrors  for  him  ; 
twenty  battles  had  accustomed  him  to  it. 
But  the  sweet  emotions  of  paternal  love  were 
new  to  him,  and  a  secret  voice  seemed  to 
warn  him  that  he  would  not  long  enjoy  them. 

Louis  now  came  up  and  greeted  the 
colonel.  Bianca  gave  the  child  to  Jeannette, 
for  Regnard,  with  only  one  arm,  could  not 
hold  it,  and  she  felt  that  her  strength  was 
giving  way  amidst  this  complication  of  hor- 
rors. She  leaned  against  the  wheel  of  the 
carriage.  Bernard  observed  her  faltering, 
and  encircling  her  tenderly  with  his  arm,  he 
kissed  her  pale  cheek. 

"  See  yonder  woman,"  he  said ;  "  take 
pattern  by  her !  See,  dearest  sister!  how  calm 
she  is  amidst  the  ravages  of  death  !" 

About  twenty  paces  off,  a  tall  female  figure 
sat  upon  a  horse,  a  child  of  three  years  old 
in  her  arms,  and  gazed  steadily  at  the  tumult. 
A  black  veil  was  twined  round  her  head,  but 
left  her  noble  and  striking  countenance  ex- 
posed. She  could  but  just  have  arrived, 
otherwise  her  appearance  was  too  remarka- 
ble not  to  have  attracted  attention,  even  in 
that  hour  of  confusion  when  few  thought  of 
anything  but  their  danger. 

"  Calm  ?"  said  Bianca,  after  a  long  look. 
"  calm,  say  you  ?  Petrified,  you  should  say. 
See  you  not  the  tears  that  roll  over  her  rigid 
countenance,  and  the  despairing  gaze  she  di- 
rects to  heaven  ?     Alas !  poor  woman  !" 

"  She  is  the  widow  of  Colonel  Lavagnac," 
said  Regnard ;  her  husband  fell  three  weeks 
ago  at  Viazma ;  the  child  in  her  lap  is  her 
daughter." 

All  eyes  were  fixed  in  pity  on  the 
mourning  figure,  when  a  cannon-ball  boomed 
through  the  air,  and  struck  her  and  her 
horse  to  the  ground.  A  cry  of  horror  es- 
caped the  bystanders.  The  unhappy  wo- 
man had  disappeared.  One  could  not  see 
her  for  the  throng.  Bernard,  Louis,  and 
Regnard  forced  a  passage  through  the  mob 
of  men  and  horses,  but  with  all  their  efforts, 
their  progress  was  slow.  Bianca  followed 
them,  led  partly  by  pity  and  partly  by  fear 
of  separation  from  her  protectors. 

Silent  and  uncomplaining,  the  kdy  sat  upon 
the  ensanguined  snow — her  tall,  dignified 
form  supported  against  an  overturned  cart, 
her  child  clasped  in  her  arms.  The  shot 
had  shattered  both  her  feet,  but  her  infant 
appeared  unhurt,  and  anxiously  clasped  its 
mother's  neck  with  its  little  hands.  None 
thought  of  succoring  the  poor  creatures ; 
all  were  too  engrossed  with  their  own  selfish 
misery — and  few  vouchsafed  her  more  than  a 
passing  glance  as  they  struggled  onwards. 
She   would    hardly    have    escaped    being 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


385 


trshnpled  under  foot,  had  not  her  wounded 
horse,  lashing  out  convulsively  in  the  ago- 
nies of  death,  cleared  a  space  around  her. 
Whilst  Bernard  supported  his  trembling  sis- 
ter, Louis  and  Regnard  attempted  to  climb 
over  the  cart  w^hix^h  intervened  between 
them  and  the  wounded  lady.  But  at  that 
moment  the  noble  sufferer  took  a  strong  hair- 
chain  from  her  neck,  twisted  it,  before  any 
could  stay  her  hand,  around  her  infant-s 
throat,  and  with  a  sudden  exertion  of  strength 
drew  it  tight.  The  little  creature  drooped 
its  head  and  fell  strangled  on  its  mother's 
knees.  In  a  last  frantic  convulsion,  the  un- 
happy parent  clasped  her  child  to  her  bosom, 
gave  an  agonised  sigh,  a  glance  to  heaven, 
and  fell  back,  dead  !  At  that  moment,  Louis 
and  Regnard  reached  her,  but  it  was  too  late. 
Bianca  bid  her  face  in  her  brother's  bosom. 

Meanwhile,  the  fire  from  the  Russian  bat- 
tery was  incessant ;  balls  and  shells  crashed 
against  the  bridge,  and  into  the  midst  of  the 
multitude.  The  fighting  in  the  rear,  also, 
from  the  side  of  Studianka,  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  it  was  to  be  feared  that  the  im- 
placable enemy  would  soon  be  upon  them 
from  that  quarter  too.  Thus  commingled — 
the  thunder  of  cannon,  the  cries  of  the 
wounded  and  half-shattered  victims, — the 
screams  of  those  perishing  in  the  river,  and 
the  roar  and  yells  of  those,  who,  in  despera- 
tion, sought  by  violence  to  break  open  a  way 
of  escape. 

The  balls  struck  again  close  io  the  spot 
where  Bianca  was  with  her  friends,  so  that 
Willhofen  had  much  ado  to  keep  the  horses 
from  running  away.  Regnard  caressed  his 
child  at  intervals,  and  then  calmly  watched 
the  progress  of  the  battle.  Not  a  moan  or  a 
word  was  heard  from  him  on  account  of  his 
crushed  arm, 

A  shell  struck  right  in  the  circle  of  the 
friends,  scattering  the  ice  and  all  around  it, 
and  finally  burying  itself  in  the  ground. 

"  Down,  down,  all  of  you !"  shouted  Reg- 
nard, but  the  monster  exploded  instantly, 
amidst  a  cloud  of  flame  and  smoke,  project- 
ing the  pieces  violently  on  all  sides.  Cries 
of  terror  resounded  every  where  j  the  atmos- 
phere itself  seemed  to  hiss  and  bellow. 
Bernard  felt  that  he  was  unhurt,  his  sister, 
whom  he  held  in  his  arms,  the  same  ;  but  a 
thick  volume  of  smoke  environed  bis  head, 
so  that  he  could  not  perceive  any  of  his 
friends. 

•'Louis,"  he  called;  "Louis,  art  thou  alive?" 

"  Thou  livest !"  was  heard  in  the  voice  of 
Louis,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  at  Bianca's 
feet.  But  suddenly  he  tore  himself  away, 
and  sprang  up,  exclaiming — "  Holy  Father, 
that  too  ?"  His  eye  fell  upon  Willhofen, 
who  was  lying  dreadfully  mangled  between 
ihe  horses.     The  face  only  was  injured :  his 


bursting  eye  sought  anxiously  for  some 
friendly  hand  to  close  it.  Louis  ran  to  hiih, 
and  raised  his  head.  Bernard  seized  his 
right  hand,  kneeling  before  him.  "  Art  thou 
yet  alive  ?  Canst  thou  yet  bid  us  a  fare- 
well !"  cried  Louis,  in  a  voice  choked  with 
grief.  But  the  dying  man  only  moved  his 
lips  faintly,  and  tried  to  give  a  pressure  of 
the  hand  in  token  of  gratitude.  A  painful 
smile  flitted  over  his  face,  his  head  sank 
back,  and  he  expired. 

They  tried  to  raise  the  body,  but  another 
discharge  from  the  Russian  batteries  scat- 
tered a  host  of  balls  and  shells  among  the 
crowd  close  by  them.  Another  howl  of 
terror  arose ;  every  thing  huddled  together, 
one  on  top  of  another,  and  the  billows  of 
flying  masses  came  now  rolling  this  way. 

"  Let  us  keep  together !"  cried  Regnard — 
"once  separated  we  shall  never  meet  again !" 
And  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  grasp  that 
of  Louis,  when  a  ball  passed  between  them, 
overthrowing  the  colonel. 

"  Regnard !"  cried  Louis,  springing  to  his 
assistance,  "  are  you  badly  hit  1" 

Bernard  raised  the  wounded  roan  by  the 
shoulders,  and  bent  over  him. 

"  I  have  got  my  allowance,"  said'Regnard, 
faintly.     "  Where  is  my  little  daughter  V 

Shuddering,  but  with  resolute  step,  Bianca 
came  forward,  the  child  in  her  arms.  She 
kneeled  beside  the  dying  soldier,  and  held  it 
out  to  him.  Regnard  looked  mournfully  at 
the  little  creature,  so  soon  to  be  an  orphan. 

"  Farewell !"  he  said,  kissing  it  for  the  last 
time.  "  You  have  no  longer  a  father — but  a 
mother — has  she  not  1"  added  he,  imploring- 
ly, to  Bianca.  "  Greetings  to  Rasinski,  if 
he  shall  live  to  receive  them.  Long  live  the 
Emperor !" 

Upon  this  last  exclamation,  uttered  in  a 
hoarse,  soldier-like  tone,  the  final  breath  of 
the  dying  man  was  expended.  The  next  in- 
stant his  soul  had  fled  I 

But  there  was  no  time  granted  to  indulge 
in  grief — for  a  terrible  roar  and  rattle  in  their 
neighborhood,  mixed  up  with  howls  and 
screams,  and  a  crowd  and  pushing  of  fugi- 
tives carrying  every  thing  before  them,  drove 
them  from  the  ground. 

"  Gfet  out  of  the  way  of  this  avalanche ! — 
it  will  swallow  us  up !"  cried  Bernard.  "  Let 
us  fly  to  the  heights,  where  we  can  breathe  !" 

Louis  took  hold  of  Bianca ;  Bernard  tore 
the  bewildered  Jeannette  away  with  him. 
Leaving  every  thing  behind,  they  only 
sought  to  escape  from  the  danger  of  the  mo- 
ment. They  succeeded,  fortunately,  in  gain- 
ing a  more  open  spot  on  one  side,  to  which  the 
crowd  did  not  rush,  as  the  bridge  could  not 
any  longer  be  reached  from  thence,  and  no 
one  thought  of  seeking  safety  but  by  this 
means. 


S86 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


"  Here  we  have  air !"  cried  Bernard,  as, 
breathless,  he  reached  the  place;  "the  stream 
of  people  rolls  that  way.  "  Here  nothing 
worse  can  reach  us  than  the  shots  from  the 
enemy,  or  be  made  prisoners  of  war.  He 
cannot  well  be  more  merciless  than  that 
tiger-like  fury  which  rages  there  below!" 

The  most  trying  moments  had  now  come, 
for  flying  portions  of  the  army  rushed  down 
from  the  heights  of  Studianka.  The  artil- 
lery at  a  full  trot  rattled  down  the  icy  decliv- 
ities— the  horses  being  unable  to  hold  back 
the  guns.  There  being  no  alternative,  they 
drove  right  in  among  the  unfortunate  crowd. 
The  wheels  of  the  heavy  gun-carriages 
dashed  over  a  pavement  of  dead  bodies,  and 
the  fractured  limbs  and  bones  of  thousands 
yet  living.  Cries  of  murder  and  distress 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  very  bowels  of  the 
earth.  Horses,  guns,  tumbrils,  and  human 
beings  rolled  in  inextricable  confusion  down 
the  steep  declivities  towards  the  river. 

Prayers  and  curses,  lamentations,  and  rav- 
ings of  wrath  and  madness,  intermingled  in 
a  loud,  uproarious  noise,  hardly  overmatched 
by  the  thunder  of  the  artillery  and  the  crash- 
ing of  the  shot.  The  wind  howled  furious- 
ly, throwing  up  the  snowin  whirling  clouds, 
and  driving  before  it  the  foaming  billows  of 
the  black  stream.  The  powers  of  the  ele- 
ments seemed  to  struggle  with  the  energies 
of  man  with  a  fearful  tenacity. 

On  the  bridge  itself  the  spirit  of  terror  and 
insubordination  ruled  triumphant.  Safety 
and  destruction  were  here  running  parallel 
on  the  narrowest  ledge  of  the  precipice.  The 
foot  did  not  tread  upon  corpses,  but  on  living 
creatures,  who,  half-crushed,  writhed  in  wild- 
est contortions.  The  flood  eagerly  opened 
its  ravenous  jaws,  devouring  thousands  of 
victims,  thrust  without  pity  into  the  treach- 
erous element.  An  inhuman  contest  arose 
at  this  point.  Brothers  forced  their  way 
over  the  bodies  of  brothers,  trampling  their 
faces  under  their  feet. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

The  hindmost  of  the  troops,  who  had 
fought  the  recent  battle^  were  pouring  down 
the  heights  in  thick  columns.  On  seeing 
the  bridge  and  the  adjacent  banks  so  over- 
crowded with  fugitives  that  it  was  utterly 
impossible  to  break  themselves  a  path  in  that 
direction,  they  turned  upwards  against  the 
stream,  to  reach  the  opposite  shore,  either  by 
swimming  or  wading  over.  This  stream 
of  mortals  also  threatened  to  overwhelm 
the  spot  pitched  upon  by  Bernard.     Louis 


was  the  first  to  observe  this,  and  urged  th« 
others  before  him  to  seek  refuge  higher  up 
towards  the  source  of  the  river.  This  was 
done  in  tumultuous  haste,  as  fast  as  the, 
through  fright  and  anxiety,  overstrained 
powers  of  the  women  permitted.  But  even 
here  nature  was  adverse  to  them,  for  the 
wind  beat  right  into  their  faces,  and  blinded 
them  with  the  driving  snow.  Many,  de- 
spairing of  escape  by  means  of  the  bridges, 
followed  after  them,  and  thus  a  crowd  flowed 
in  on  that  point  also.  From  the  heights 
came  pouring  down  cavalry,  foot-soldiers, 
wagons  and  field-pieces,  pell-mell.  These 
two  torrents  soon  merged  into  one,  and  now 
the  wild  destructive  pressure  commenced 
afresh.  Bernard  called  out  to  Louis:  "Fol- 
low me ;  let  us  push  further  up  towards  the 
hills ;  where  no  one  seeks  safety,  is  the 
place  for  us  to  find  it !" 

To  do  this  it  was  necessary  to  permeate 
the  rushing  torrent  of  fugitives,  which  sub- 
jected them  to  the  encounter  of  a  sharp  con- 
flict ;  panting  and  breathless,  almost  bereft 
of  their  last  ebbing  strength,  they  finally 
gained  the  limits  of  the  crowd.  They  pro- 
ceeded rapidly  across  a  slippery  descent; 
here  again  a  hostile  fate  lurked  in  their 
path.  Two  field-pieces  came  down  the  hill 
on  the  same  icy  descent;  the  horses  slipped 
their  foothold,  and  were  about  falling. 
Nothing  can  save  them  but  making  them 
rush  blindly  on.  Impelled  by  furious  lash- 
ings of  the  whip,  and  urgent  shouts,  the 
horses  dashed  away  at  full  gallop  directly 
tow^ards  the  spot  where  Bernard  stood.  He 
endeavored  to  spring  on  one  side,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  pull  Jeannette  along  with  him ; 
but,  alas!  it  was  too  late.  The  leaders 
came  in  contact  with  him,  and  hurled  him, 
together  with  the  girl,  to  the  ground. 

Uttering  a  piercing  shriek,  Bianca  swooned 
and  fell. 

A  gentle  voice  reached  her  ear,  uttering, 
"  Sister,  oh,  my  sister !"  It  is  the  voice  of 
Bernard.  She  opens  her  eyes.  Bernard  is 
unhurt,  kneeling  at  her  side. 

Love,  grief,  and  alarm,  all  find  vent  in 
a  flood  of  beneficent  tears ;  forgotten  is  every 
grief — forgotten  the  evils  yet  in  store. 

"Then  no  new  victim  has  been  sacri- 
ficed ?"  she  ejaculates,  trying  with  kisses 
of  joy  to  seal  Bernard's  lips.  But  he  keeps 
her  off  with  a  serious  mien,  saying : 

"  Yes,  one  has  bled,  though  from  me  a  gra- 
cious Providence  diverted  the  destruction. 
Jeannette  has  found  her  death ;  her  devoted- 
ijess,  like  that  of  our  Willhofen,  will  find  its 
reward  only  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave  !" 

"  Jeannette  killed  !"  cried  Bianca,  shudder- 
ing.    "  Where,  where  is  she  '?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  ask  to  see  her,"  Bernard  en- 
treated, while  he  tried  to  prevent  her  from 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


287 


turning  around,  for  the  body  lay  behind  her ; 
"  she  died  too  shockingly  !" 

But  it  was  already  done.  Following  with 
her  eye  the  tracks  of  blood  visible  on  the 
snow,  Bianca  discovered  the  inanimate  re- 
mains; she  recoiled  shuddering  at  the  dis- 
tressing sight.  The  wheel  had  passed  over 
the  girl's  head  and  breast,  frightfully  tear- 
ing and  disfiguring  the  youthful,  blooming 
countenance.  The  blood  still  oozed  and 
trickled  from  the  wounds,  mingling  with  her 
light  brown  tresses,  which  lay  dishevelled 
and  loose  on  the  snow. 

With  hurried  steps  they  now  continued 
their  flight  up  the  stream.  A  sweeping 
curve  in  its  course  threw  the  bridge  and  the 
crowds  out  of  sight,  and  they  now  heard  only 
the  dull  reports  of  the  enemy's  guns.  Their 
path  led  them  through  a  wintry  solitude.  To 
the  left  was  the  Berezina,  full  of  its  floating 
masses  of  ice  ;  on  the  right  were  the  heights 
from  which  the  piercing  blast  chapped  their 
hands,  and  drove  the  snow  in  their  faces. 
But  still  this  rough,  inhospitable  reception 
was  friendly,  compared  with  the  scenes  out 
of  which  they  had  escaped. 

But  soon  they  must  find  some  shelter, 
or  their  strength  would  entirely  forsake 
them,  for  Bianca  was  altogether  faint  and 
exhausted.  Bernard  inspired  fresh  hopes 
by  remarking  that  they  could  now  not  be  far 
from  Weselowa.  Even  should  they  find 
none  but  Russians  there,  their  safety  would 
be  ensured — -as  Bianca,  by  Bernard's  advice, 
was  to  announce  herself  to  them  as  a  Rus- 
eian  lady,  on  her  flight  from  the  French, 
and  Louis  and  himself  as  foreign  retainers 
of  her  household.  Should  they  fall  in  with 
French  troops,  it  devolved  on  the  men  to  ob- 
tain help  and  protection. 

They  had  continued  their  wearisome  pro- 
gress for  more  than  an  hour,  and  still  the 
much  longed-for  Weselowa  was  not  in  sight. 
Louis  then  directed  Bernard's  attention  to 
some  straggling  horsemen  who  made  their 
appearance  on  the  heights.  Bernard's  keen 
eye  saw  directly  who  they  were,  and  he  ex- 
claimed :  "  Those  are  Cossacks ;  I  know  them 
by  their  lances ;  if  these  rapacious  villains 
should  fall  upon  us,  nothing  could  prevent  our 
being  stripped  of  everything.  It  is  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  the  marauder,  whether  he 
plunders  friend  or  foe,  as  long  as  he  can  do 
it  with  impunity.  Let  us  creep  as  near  the 
shore  here  below  as  possible." 

This  was  done  with  the  utmost  haste,  but 
still  it  was  without  avail,  for  the  Cossacks 
had  already  espied  them,  and  galloped  after 
them,  in  pursuit,  as  it  seemed.  But  fortun- 
ately there  was  another  bend  in  the  river, 
which  carried  them  out  of  sight  from  their 
pursuers ;  at  the  same  time  they  beheld  in  the 
distance  the  snow-covered  roofs  of  Weselowa. 


But  the  last  hurried  effort  had  completely 
exhausted  the  little  remaining  strength  that 
Bianqa  could  muster ;  she  sank  on  her  knees, 
exclaiming :  "  I  can  no  more !  oh,  do  you  flee, 
and  save  yourselves,  and  leave  the  child  with 
me;  I  shall  find  compassion  among  these 
wild  hordes !" 

"  We  will  carry  thee  !"  cried  Bernard ; 
"  our  strength  will  enable  us  to  reach  yonder 
huts."  And  instantly  Louis,  with  himself, 
had  her  lifted  up,  attempting  a  thing  impos- 
sible. After  taking  a  few  steps  they  had  to 
relinquish  the  task,  as  they  sank  into  the 
deep  untrodden  snow. 

"  Flee,  I  beseech  you,  brother ! — and  thou, 
my  beloved,  flee !  It  is  the  only  means  of  se- 
curing your  safety  and  mine ;  stay  here,  and 
we  all  perish  together!" 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
was  heard.  One  minute  more,  and  their  fate 
would  be  determined.  They  did  not  look  up, 
but  held  each  other  in  a  close  embrace. 

The  riders  came  galloping  towards  them : 
when  quite  near  they  halted,  and  a  voice 
called  out  in  Russian :  "  Hallo !  is  that 
Weselowa  yonder  V  Bianca  started  joyful- 
ly as  she  heard  these  words ;  with  a  pene- 
trating cry,  she  exclaimed,  "  Great  God !  Ra- 
sinski !" 

With  boisterous  rapture,  Louis  and  Ber- 
nard sprang  up,  and  instantly  Rasinski  was 
off*  his  horse  and  in  their  arms.  Boleslaus 
and  Jaromit  also  hastened  to  embrace  their 
friends.  •'  You  live  !  you  live  !  and  here 
we  find  you  !"  was  heard  from  every  mouth, 
while  the  heart  could  scarcely  contain  itself 
for  the  unspeakable  happiness  it  felt. 

The  momentary  ferment  was  over,  and  to 
this  succeeded  a  quiet  hilarity,  much  like  a 
river  vvhich,  after  plunging  down  in  a  thun- 
dering cataract,  glides  along  with  placid  flow, 
reflecting  the  fleecy  clouds  in  its  mirror-like 
face. 

There  was  no  lack  of  sad  and  painful  re- 
trospects. The  untoward  fates  of  Willhofen, 
Regnard,  and  Jeannette  were  ftcounted.  Ra- 
sinski listened  with  heartfelt  attention.  He 
then  turned  around,  pointed  to  his  handful 
of  followers,  and  said,  in  deeply-moved  ac- 
cents :  "  These  are  all  I  bring  out  of  that  mur- 
derous conflict !  We  cut  our  way  through, 
and  came  hither  in  flight !  To  save  us  from 
losing  any  more  friends,  let  us  go  on ;  there 
lies  Weselowa.  I  trust  we  shall  be  able  to 
cross  the  river;  once  on  the  other  side,  I 
think  we  are  safe  !" 

He  lifted  the  exhausted  Bianca  and  the 
child  on  his  own  horse,  leading  it  by  the 
bridle.  Boleslaus  and  Jaromir  offered  theirs, 
also,  to  Louis  and  Bernard,  which  they  de- 
clined, for  they  felt  themselves  yet  strong 
enough  to  pursue  their  way  on  foot. 

In  an  hour  more  they  reached  the  hamlet. 


388 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


A  Lithuanian  peasant  guided  them  to  a  ford 
where  the  river  was  not  quite  the  depth  of  a 
man.  Notwithstanding  that  the  ice  was 
drifting  in  large  masses,  they  courageously 
ventured  into  tne  current.  Rasinski  sat  be- 
hind one  of  his  men  ;  Bernard  and  Louis  did 
the  same  behind  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus. 
They  reached  the  opposite  shore  in  safety, 
and  thus  finally  rescued,  they  lifted  their 
hearts  and  eyes  in  profound  gratitude  to 
heaven. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIL 

Rasinski  and  his  friends  pursued  their  way 
to  Zembin.  Here  he  found  Marshal  Ney,  on 
whom  still  devolved  the  most  difficult  task — 
that  of  covering  the  retreat.  The  worst  of 
the  fatigue  and  suffering  seemed,  however,  to 
have  passed — for  they  now  found  themselves 
in  a  region  that  was  not  utterly  laid  waste,  in 
which  the  inhabitants  were  more  favorably 
disposed.  A  high-wrought  desire  for  deliver- 
ance caused  the  smallest  glimpses  of  hope  to 
be  looked  upon  as  the  consummation  of  all 
their  desires ;  but  the  implacable  animosity 
of  fortune  was  not  yet  appeased.  It  slum- 
bered only  in  order  to  regain  strength. 

Louis  succeeded  while  at  Zemhin  in  obtain- 
ing a  small  sled,  affisrding  room  for  two  per- 
sons, which  was  consigned  to  Bianca.  Ra- 
sinski had  a  horse  harnessed  to  it,  transfer- 
ring the  rider  to  the  office  of  driver.  Ber- 
nard and  Louis  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  Bi- 
anca, now  that  it  was  practicable,  to  gain  a 
stage  in  advance,  so  as  to  reach  Wilna,  the 
longed-for  haven  of  safety.  She  was  not  to 
be  moved  from  her  purpose,  never  for  a  mo- 
ment to  leave  her  brother  or  lover. 

Anything  like  organization  in  the  army 
was  no  longer  to  be  thought  of.  Every  one 
joined  that  division  or  detachment  in  which 
he  expected  to  find  most  security,  or  which 
he  fell  in  with  accidentally.  Rasinski  again 
attached  himself  to  Ney — partly  from  pre- 
ference towards  the  marshal  personally,  part- 
ly because  his  military  ambition  prompted 
him  always  to  seek  the  perils  of  battle,  as 
being  more  meritorious. 

During  the  progress  of  the  first  few  days, 
the  enemy  pressed,  but  not  very  eagerly ; 
swarms  of  Cossacks,  which  were  dispersed 
by  a  single  cannon-shot,  were  the  only  ones 
finally  that  molested  the  retreat. 

But  the  day  arrived  for  which  that  most 
inveterate  enemy  of  the  army^the  Russian 
winter — seemed  to  have  treasured  up  all  his 
wrath.  On  the  night  of  the  3rd  of  De- 
cember, the  wind  suddenly  veered  rounid 
from  a  south-westerly  to  a  cutting  north-eas- 


terly bearing.  On  its  wings  were  borne  the 
terrors  of  the  North  Pole — to  the  destruction 
of  these  last  fragments  of  a  once  proud  and 
gigantic  host.  Winter,  lurking  spitefully, 
had  half-concealed  itself  behind  a  veil  of 
comparative  mildness.  Now  he  had  stolen 
upon  them  under  cover  of  a  dark  night,  and 
fallen  upon  the  defenceless  victims  in  their 
sleep.  Pinched  with  acute  pain  from  his 
freezing  touch,  they  opened  their  eyes,  and 
the  pitiless  monster  stood  before  them  in  all 
his  dread-inspiring  deformity. 

Rasinski,  with  his  men,  and  some  others, 
had  taken  up  his  quarters  in  a  large  barn, 
where  they  warmed  each  other  by  lying  close 
together — for  the  space  did  not  admit  the 
making  a  fire.  Towards  morning,  he  woke 
up  from  a  pricking  pain  in  his  hands  and 
feet ;  he  tried  to  rise,  but  found  himself  as 
lame  as  a  paralytic.  He  succeeded  with 
great  difficulty  in  bending  the  stiffened  sin- 
ews, and  sat  upright.  One  single  inspiration 
of  air  convinced  him  that  the  real  Muscovite 
winter  was  at  the  door,  exhaling  its  petrify- 
ing breath  over  every  living  thing. 

"  Halloo  !"  he  roared  out  instantly,  shak- 
ing Jaromir,  who  lay  next  to  him.  "  Halloo ! 
Get  up  !    Boleslaus,  Jaromir,  Bernard  !" 

All  awoke  at  the  summons,  but  were  for 
some  time  unable  to  move. 

"  You  must  rouse  yourselves,"  cried  Ra- 
sinski, "else  you  are  gone  !  To-day  rises 
the  sun  of  a  real  winter's  morning.  He  has 
only  played  wolf  with  us  until  now !" 

"  The  devil ! — what  weather !"  growled 
Bernard,  wrapping  himself  closer  in  his  fur 
cloak  ;  "  it  lays  hold  of  a  fellow  like  the 
paws  of  a  grizly  bear !  Bianca,  my  dear,  how 
art  thou  1" 

The  resolute  woman  suppressed  her  pain 
and  troubles.  "  I  am  very  well,  brother," 
she  answered  ;  "  I  am  more  used  to  this  cli- 
mate than  thou .  And  we  are  besides  so  well 
provided  with  clothing." 

"  Keep  close  together,  friends !"  Rasinski 
exhorted  them :  "  in  this  hive  one  may  be 
easily  separated." 

Bernard  and  Louis  supported  Bianca,  who 
carried  Alisette's  child,  closely  enveloped  in 
furs,  between  them.  Rasinski,  with  Boles- 
laus and  Jaromir,  went  before.  The  remai  ning 
soldiers  of  the  regiment  followed  on  behind. 
Thus,  after  stumbling-over  many  that  were 
lying  on  the  ground  and  groaning  piteousiv, 
they  reach  lid  the  open  air.  The  snov 
creaked  crisp  under  their  feet ;  the  air  seemf.  J 
to  be  impregnated  with  needles,  which,  in 
breathing,  struck  painfully  on  the  lungs. 
Eyes,  lips  and  cheeks  began  to  tingle  and 
smart  the  moment  they  came  in  contact  with 
the  wind. 

Drums  were  beating  with  hollow  sound, 
summoning  the  troops  for  the  march. 


V-*'-fi 


(^;  NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


^ 


989 


'  AlMajestic  figure  stood  upon  an  eminence, 
covered  with  a  fur  cloak,  yet' beating  his 
arms  to  keep  himself  warm.  '  It  was  •Mar- 
shal Davoust.  In  a  loud  voice,  he  cried, 
"  This  way — first  division — this  way  !" 

A  small  number  dilatorily  assembled  around 
him — the  residue  of  his  entire  corps,  having 
been  lost  in  dangers  innumerable  by  this 
hardened  and  persevering  soldier,  whom' no 
BuflFering  or  peril  could  force  to  relinq^jish 
hope,  so  long  as  it  depended  on  the  laws  of 
discipline  or  order.  At  the  head  of  his  men 
he  proceeded  on  foot,  sharing  every  fatigue 
with  the  soldier  and  every  comfort  with  the 
officers,  to  which  his  rank  entitled  him,  even 
in  these  levelling  times. 

Rasinski  had  fortunately  found  shelter  for" 
his  horses,  but  two  of  them  had  died  from  the 
cold.  They  mounted.  Bianca  stepped  into 
her  little  sled,  while  Louis  and  Bernard 
walked  as  near  to  her  as  practicable,  and 
were  joined  by  the  two  now  dismounted 
troopers  of  Rasinski's  regiment. 

Thus  the  fugitives  were  once  more  on  their 
way ;  they  heard  nothing  but  the  shar^ 
crisping  of  the  snow,  the  dull  rumbling  of 
the  artillery,  and  the  hollow  groans  of  those 
who,  with  death  coursing  in  their  congealed 
veins,  fell  to  rise  no  more.         , 

These  unfortunates  were  seen  tottering  and 
staggering  about  like  drunken  men  :  then 
sinking  down  on  their  knees,  the  paralyzed 
tendons  of  which  refused  any  longer  to  sustain 
them. 

Others  laughed  like  maniacs  at  the  sight 
of  misery  around  themf  and  shouted  a  mock- 
jngv  demoniac  farewell  to  those  who  fell.  It 
was  only  nobler  and  more  courageous  na- 
tures that  preserved  a  manly  composuVe. 
Rasinski  maintained  his  equanimity.  His 
horse,  which  he  had  been  leading  by  the  bri- 
dle, sunk  from  cold  and  exhaustion.  He 
took  the  pistols  out  of  the  holsters,  and  con- 
tinued his  way  aa  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Jaromir  and  Boleslaus,  who  also  were  on 
foot,  leading  their  horses,  in  vain  urged  him 
to  make  use  of  one.     He  refused. 

Boleslaus,  ho\*ever,  unslung  the  valise, 
which  Rasinski  was  going  to  leave  with  the 
saddle,  and  buckled  it  fast  to  his  own.  A 
starving  multitude  threw  themselves  upon 
the  carcass  of  the  horse,  and  tore  it  in  a 
thousand  pieces.  Rasinski  went  gloomily  on, 
so  as  to  avoid  seeing  the  tragic  end  of  his 
faithful  beast.  Before  another  half-hour  had 
passed,  Boleslaus'  horse  fell,  and  directly  af- 
ter, Jarormir's.  Notwithstanding  the  sun  was 
near  the  meridian,  the  cold  steadily  increased,, 
pouring  its  deadly  breath  upon  men  and  ani- 
mals. The  road  led  over  a  gently  rising 
ground — but  it  was  sheeted  with  ice,  like  a 
mirror.  As  Bianca's  sled  approached,  the 
horses  were  unable  to  draw  it.    She  imme- 


■  .-•XTfii/ 


19 


diately  got  out,  but  it  availed  nothing.  Twice 
the  animal  tried  its  best;  Louis,  Bernard, 
Jaromir,  Boleslaus  and  Rasinski  assisting. 
But  it  was  fruitless  labor ;  the  poor  beast 
was  no  longer  able  to  drag  itself  along ;  it 
fell  to  the  ground,  an(J  in  a  few  minutes  was 
rigid.  Undisma5'^ed,  Bianca  said  to  her 
friends  who  stood  around  her  :  "  Now  I  can 
share  in  your  hardships,  and  it  will  not  come 
hard  to  me.  In  this  severe  cold  it  is  better 
to  walk:"  ,i. 

Bernard  answered  nothing.  Silently  he 
took  the  child  from  her  arms  and  carried  it. 
Louis  supported  his  betrothed,  and  they  wan- 
dered silent  and  sorrowful  together. 

They  took  a  path  running  parallel  with 
the  road,  as  it  seemed  more  easy  to  travel, 
and  where  they  were  not  so  much  crowded ; 
it  had  been  trodden  by  only  a  few  individu- 
als. Bianca  and  Louis  went  before.  Ber- 
nard followed  at  some  distance  with  the  child, 
whose  unconscious  glee  and  prattle — Bianca 
having  carefully  protected  it  against  the 
cold — afforded  a  strange  and  affecting  offset 
to  the  surrounding  horrors.  "  Thou  art  a 
butterfly  that  plays  and  flutters  within  the 
open  jaws  of  a  shark,"  said  Bernard  to  him- 
self; "  but  I  had'  just  as  lief  see  thee  here, 
as  to  see  thee  stroking  the  spotted  skin  of  a 
sleeping  tiger.  Dost  laugh,  thou  little 
rogue  ?" 

At  this  moment  a  hoarse,  firm  voice  was 
heard  in  rear  of  Bernard. 

"  Stop,  dog !"  it  reclaimed.  "  Your  cloak, 
or  I  shoot  you  dead*' 

Bernard  stopped  and  looked  round.  A 
soldier,  scantily  attired  in  wretched  rags,  his 
features  distorted,  his  beard  long  and  tan- 
gled, hig  face  black  with  earth  and  smoke,  his 
eyes,  fiightfully  inflamed,  rolling  wildly  in 
their  orbits,  stood  before  him,  and  covered 
him  with  his  musket. 

"  What  would  you,  wretched  man  1"  cried 
Bernard,  horror-struck,  and  stepping  back- 
wards. The  child  screamed  with  terror, 
clasped  its  arms  around  him,  and  hid  its  little 
head  inTiis  breasT. 

"  Your  warm  cloak,  or  I  shoot  you  down  !" 
shouted  the  frantic  soldier.  "No  more 
comrades  here  !  I've  as  .good  a  right  to  save 
myself  as  you  !" 

Bernard  saw  himself  almost  alone  with 
the  assassin ;  although  thousands  were  with- 
in hail,  the  bullet  would  be  quicker  than 
thei^.  aid,  supposing  even  that  one  amongst 
them  had  sufficient  pity  for  another's  peril, 
to  turn  aside  for  a  moment,  and  thus  lengthen 
his  journey  and  sufferings  by  a  few  painful 
paces.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  yield 
to  the  menace  and  give  up  his  warm  wrap- 
per, although  he  well  knew  that  with  it  he 
gave  up  his  life. 

"  You  would  murder  a  comrade  to  prolong 


^v%.- 


288 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;   OR, 


A  Lithuanian  peasant  guided  them  to  a  ford 
where  the  river  was  not  quite  the  depth  of  a 
man.  Notwithstanding  that  the  ice  was 
drifting  in  large  masses,  they  courageously 
ventured  into  the  current.  Rasinski  sat  be- 
hind one  of  his  men  ;  Bernard  and  Louis  did 
the  same  behind  Jaromir  and  Boleslaus. 
They  reached  the  opposite  shore  in  safety, 
and  thus  finally  rescued,  they  lifted  their 
hearts  and  eyes  in  profound  gratitude  to 
heaven. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIL 

Rasinski  and  his  friends  pursued  their  way 
to  Zembin.  Here  he  found  Marshal  Ney,  on 
whom  still  devolved  the  most  difhcult  task — 
that  of  covering  the  retreat.  The  worst  of 
the  fatigue  and  suffering  seemed,  however,  to 
have  passed — for  they  now  found  themselves 
in  a  region  that  was  not  utterly  laid  waste,  in 
which  the  inhabitants  were  more  favorably 
disposed .  A  high-wrought  desire  for  deliver- 
ance caused  the  smallest  glimpses  of  hope  to 
be  looked  upon  as  the  consummation  of  all 
their  desires ;  but  the  implacable  animosity 
of  fortune  was  not  yet  appeased.  It  slum- 
bered only  in  order  to  regain  strength. 

Louis  succeeded  while  at  Zemhin  in  obtain- 
ing a  small  sled,  affording  room  for  two  per- 
sons, which  was  consigned  to  Bianca.  Ra- 
sinski had  a  horse  harnessed  to  it,  transfer- 
ring the  rider  to  the  office  of  driver.  Ber- 
nard and  Louis  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  Bi- 
anca, now  that  it  was  practicable,  to  gain  a 
stage  in  advance,  so  as  to  reach  Wilna,  the 
longed-for  haven  of  safety.  She  was  not  to 
be  moved  from  her  purpose,  never  for  a  mo- 
ment to  leave  her  brother  or  lover. 

Anything  like  organization  in  the  army 
was  no  longer  to  be  thought  of.  Every  one 
joined  that  division  or  detachment  in  which 
he  expected  to  find  most  security,  or  which 
he  fell  in  with  accidentally.  Rasinski  again 
attached  himself  to  Ney — partly  from  pre- 
ference towards  the  marshal  personally,  part- 
ly because  his  military  ambition  prompted 
him  always  to  seek  the  perils  of  battle,  as 
being  more  meritorious. 

During  the  progress  of  the  first  few  days, 
the  enemy  pressed,  but  not  very  eagerly ; 
swarms  of  Cossacks,  which  were  dispersed 
by  a  single  cannon-shot,  were  the  only  ones 
finally  that  molested  the  retreat. 

But  the  day  arrived  for  which  that  most 
inveterate  enemy  of  the  army — the  Russian 
winter — seemed  to  have  treasured  up  all  his 
wrath.  On  the  night  of  the  3rd  of  De- 
cember, the  wind  suddenly  veered  round 
from  a  south-westerly  to  a  cutting  north-eas- 


terly bearing.  On  its  wings  were  borne  the 
terrors  of  the  North  Pole — to  the  destruction 
of  these  last  fragments  of  a  once  proud  and 
gigantic  host.  Winter,  lurking  spitefully, 
had  half-concealed  itself  behind  a  veil  of 
comparative  mildness.  Now  he  had  stolen 
upon  them  under  cover  of  a  dark  night,  and 
fallen  upon  the  defenceless  victims  in  their 
sleep.  Pinched  with  acute  pain  from  his 
freezing  touch,  they  opened  their  eyes,  and 
the  pitiless  monster  stood  before  them  in  all 
his  dread-inspiring  deformity. 

Rasinski,  with  his  men,  and  some  others, 
had  taken  up  his  quarters  in  a  large  barn, 
where  they  warmed  each  other  by  lying  close 
together — for  the  space  did  not  admit  the 
making  a  fire.  Towards  morning,  he  woke 
up  from  a  pricking  pain  in  his  hands  and 
feet ;  he  tried  to  rise,  but  found  himself  as 
lame  as  a  paralytic.  He  succeeded  with 
great  difficulty  in  bending  the  stiffened  sin- 
ews, and  sat  upright.  One  single  inspiration 
of  air  convinced  him  that  the  real  Muscovite 
winter  was  at  the  door,  exhaling  its  petrify- 
ing breath  over  every  living  thing. 

"  Halloo  !"  he  roared  out  instantly,  shak- 
ing Jaromir,  who  lay  next  to  him.  "Halloo! 
Get  up  !    Boleslaus,  Jaromir,  Bernard  !" 

All  awoke  at  the  summons,  but  were  for 
some  time  unable  to  move. 

"  You  must  rouse  yourselves,"  cried  Ra- 
sinski, "else  you  are  gone  !  To-day  rises 
the  sun  of  a  real  winter's  morning.  He  has 
only  played  wolf  with  us  until  now !" 

"  The  devil ! — what  weather !"  growled 
Bernard,  wrapping  himself  closer  in  his  fur 
cloak  ;  "  it  lays  hold  of  a  fellow  like  the 
paws  of  a  grizly  bear !  Bianca,  my  dear,  how 
art  thou  V 

The  resolute  woman  suppressed  her  pain 
and  troubles.  "  I  am  very  well,  brother," 
she  answered  ;  "  I  am  more  used  to  this  cli- 
mate than  thou.  And  we  are  besides  so  well 
provided  with  clothing." 

"  Keep  close  together,  friends !"  Rasinski 
exhorted  them  :  "  in  this  hive  one  may  be 
easily  separated." 

Bernard  and  Louis  supported  Bianca,  who 
carried  Alisette's  child,  closely  enveloped  in 
furs,  between  them.  Rasinski,  with  Boles- 
laus and  Jaromir,  went  before.  The  rema»  ning 
soldiers  of  the  regiment  followed  on  behind. 
Thus,  after  stumbling -over  many  that  were 
lying  on  the  ground  and  groaning  piteousiy, 
they  reached  the  open  air.  The  snov 
creaked  crisp  under  their  feet ;  the  air  seemci 
to  be  impregnated  with  needles,  which,  in 
breathing,  struck  painfully  on  the  lungs. 
Eyes,  lips  and  cheeks  began  to  tingle  and 
smart  the  moment  they  came  in  contact  with 
the  wind. 

Drums  were  beating  with  hollow  sound, 
summoning  the  troops  for  the  march. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


9B9 


A  majestic  figure  stood  upon  an  eminence, 
covered  with  a  fur  cloak,  yet  beating  his 
arms  to  keep  himself  warm.  '  It  was  "Mar- 
shal Davoust.  In  a  loud  voice,  he  cried, 
"  This  way — first  division — this  way  !" 

A  small  number  dilatorily  assembled  around 
him — the  residue  of  his  entire  corps,  having 
been  lost  in  dangers  innumerable  by  this 
hardened  and  persevering  soldier,  whom  no 
sufiering  or  peril  could  force  to  relinq^fish 
hope,  so  long  as  it  depended  on  the  laws  of 
discipline  or  order.  At  the  head  of  his  men 
he  proceeded  on  foot,  sharing  every  fatigue 
with  the  soldier  and  every  comfort  with  the 
officers,  to  which  his  rank  entitled  him,  even 
in  these  levelling  times. 

Rasinski  had  fortunately  found  shelter  for 
his  horses,  but  two  of  them  had  died  from  the 
cold.  They  mounted.  Bianca  stepped  into 
her  little  sleJ,  while  Louis  and  Bernard 
walked  as  near  to  her  as  practicable,  and 
were  joined  by  the  two  now  dismounted 
troopers  of  Rasinski's  regiment. 

Thus  the  fugitives  were  once  more  on  their 
way;  they  heard  nothing  but  the  sharp 
crisping  of  the  snow,  the  dull  rumbling  of 
the  artillery,  and  the  hollow  groans  of  those 
who,  with  death  coursing  in  their  congealed 
veins,  fell  to  rise  no  more. 

These  unfortunates  were  seen  tottering  and 
staggering  about  like  drunken  men  ;.  then 
sinking  down  on  their  knees,  the  paralyzed 
tendons  of  which  refused  any  longer  to  sustain 
them. 

Others  laughed  like  maniacs  at  the  sight 
of  misery  around  themf  and  shouted  a  mock- 
ing, demoniac  farewell  to  those  who  fell.  It 
was  only  nobler  and  more  courageous  na- 
tures that  preserved  a  manly  composure. 
Rasinski  maintained  his  equanimity.  His 
horse,  which  he  had  been  leadingby  the  bri- 
dle, sunk  from  cold  and  exhaustion.  He 
took  the  pistols  out  of  the  holsters,  and  con- 
tinued his  way  aa  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Jaromir  and  Boleslaus,  who  also  were  on 
foot,  leading  their  horses,  in  vain  urged  Jiim 
to  make  use  of  one.     He  refused. 

Boleslaus,  ho\^ever,  un.slung  the  valise, 
which  Riisinski  was  going  to  leave  with  the 
saddle,  and  buckled  it  fast  to  his  own.  A 
starving  multitude  threw  themselves  upon 
the  carcass  of  the  horse,  and  tore  it  in  a 
thousand  pieces.  Rasinski  went  gloomily  on, 
so  as  to  avoid  seeing  the  tragic  end  of  his 
faithful  beast.  Before  another  half-hour  had 
passed,  Boleslaus'  horse  fell,  and  directly  af- 
ter, Jarormir's.  Notwithstanding  the  sun  was 
near  the  meridian,  the  cold  steadily  increased,, 
pouring  its  deadly  breath  upon  men  and  ani- 
mals. The  road  led  over  a  gently  rising 
ground — but  it  was  sheeted  with  ice,  like  a 
mirror.  As  Bianca's  sled  approached,  the 
horses  were  unable  to  draw  it.  She  imrae- 
19 


diately  got  out,  but  it  availed  nothing.  Twice 
the  animal  tried  its  best ;  Louis,  Bernard, 
Jaromir,  Boleslaus  and  Rasinski  assisting. 
But  it  was  fruitless  labor ;  the  poor  beast 
was  no  longer  able  to  drag  itself  along ;  it 
fell  to  the  ground,  an(J  in  a  few  minutes  was 
rigid.  Undismayed,  Bianca  said  to  her 
friends  who  stood  around  her  :  "  Now  I  can 
share  in  your  hardships,  and  it  will  not  come 
hard  to  me.  In  this  severe  cold  it  is  better 
to  vyalk." 

Bernard  answered  nothing.  Silently  he 
took  the  child  from  her  arms  and  carried  it. 
Louis  supported  his  betrothed,  and  they  wan- 
dered silent  and  sorrowful  together. 

They  took  a  path  running  parallel  with 
the  road,  as  it  seemed  more  easy  to  travel, 
and  where  they  were  not  so  much  crowded ; 
it  had  been  trodden  by  only  a  few  individu- 
als. Bianca  and  Louis  went  before.  Ber- 
nard followed  at  some  distance  with  the  child, 
whose  unconscious  glee  and  prattle — Bianca 
having  carefully  protected  it  against  the 
cold — afforded  a  strange  and  affecting  offset 
to  the  surrounding  horrors.  "  Thou  art  a 
butterfly  that  plays  and  flutters  within  the 
open  jaws  of  a  shark,"  said  Bernard  to  him- 
self; "  but  I  had'  just  as  lief  see  thee  here, 
as  to  see  thee  stroking  the  spotted  skin  of  a 
sleeping  tiger.  Dost  laugh,  thou  little 
rogue  ?" 

At  this  mcMnent  a  hoarse,  firm  voice  was 
heard  in  rear  of  Bernard. 

"  Stop,  dog!"  it  exclaimed.  "  Your  cloak, 
or  I  shoot  you  dead !" 

Bernard  stopped  and  looked  round.  A 
soldier,  scantily  attired  in  wretched  rags,  his 
features  distorted,  his  beard  long  and  tan- 
gled, hig  face  black  with  earth  and  smoke,  his 
eyes,  frightfully  inflamed,  rolling  wildly  in 
their  orbits,  stood  before  him,  and  covered 
him  with  his  musket. 

"  What  would  you,  wretched  man  V  cried 
Bernard,  horror-struck,  and  stepping  back- 
wards. The  child  screamed  with  terror, 
clasped  its  arms  around  him,  and  hid  its  little 
head  in  his  breasT. 

"  Your  warm  cloak,  or  I  shoot  you  down  !" 
shouted  the  frantic  soldier.  "  No  more 
comrades  here  !  I've  as  good  a  right  to  save 
myself  as  you  !" 

Bernard  saw  himself  almost  alone  with 
the  assassin  ;  although  thousands  were  with- 
in hail,  the  bullet  would  be  quicker  than 
theii;  aid,  supposing  even  that  one  amongst 
them  had  sulBcient  pity  for  another's  peril, 
to  turn  aside  for  a  moment,  and  thus  lengthen 
his  journey  and  sufferings  by  a  few  painful 
paces.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  yield 
to  the  menace  and  give  up  his  warm  wrap- 
per, although  he  well  knew  that  with  it  he 
gave  up  his  life. 

"  You  would  murder  a  comrade  to  prolong 


990 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


your  own  life  ?"  said  Bernard,  in  a  tone  of 
dignified  determination  ;  "  be  it  so.  But  you 
will  profit  little  by  the  deed.  Your  hour 
will  overtake  you  the  sooner !" 

"  Quick  !  death  gripes  me  already  !"  cried 
the  madman,  his  musket  still  levelled,  and 
his  bloodshot  eyes  wildly  rolling. 

Bernard  stooped  to  put  down  the  child, 
-  which  impeded  him  in  pulling  off  his  coat ; 
as  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  loud  cry,  and  turn- 
ing, he  beheld  Bianca,  who  thevv  herself 
weeping  at  the  feet  of  the  furious  soldier. 
'  "  Take  this  gold,  these  jewels  !"  she  ex- 
claimed ;  "  this  warm  cloak  is  yours,  but  let 
my  brother  live  !"  And,  with  the  quickness 
oi  thought,  she  tore  the  rich  chain  from  her 
neck  and  the  furs  from  her  shoulders,  leav- 
ing her  arms  and  delicate  frame  exposed 
with  slight  covering  to  the  rigor  of  that 
horrible  climate.  The  soldier  gazed  at  her 
for  a  moment  with  fixed  and  straining  eyes, 
then  his  arms  slowly  sank ;  letting  the  mus- 
ket fall  to  the  ground,  he  pressed  both  hands 
to  his  face,  and  broke  out  in  loud  weeping 
and  whimpering.  By  this  time  Louis 
came  up,  and  he  and  Bernard  lifted  up  Bian- 
ra,  who  was  still  kneeling  on  the  frozen 
ground,  and  extending  her  arms  with  the 
proffered  gifts. 

"  Wild  beast  that  I  am !"  suddenly  ex- 
claimed the  stranger ;  "  no,  I  cannot  survive 
this  shame.  Forgive  me ;  you  knew  me 
once  a  better  man,  before  suffering  drove  me 
mad  !    But  no  matter ;  I  know  my  duty !" 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  his  musket.  Ber- 
nard kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  rack- 
ed his  memory  for  the  features,  which,  wild 
and  distorted  though  they  now  were,  still 
seemed  familiar  to  him. 

"  Where  have  I  known  you  "?"  he  asked, 
as  the  man  resumed  his  erect  position. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you've  forgotten  me,"  was 
the  gloomy  reply ;  "  I  have  forgotten  my- 
self. Alive,  I  am  no  longer  worthy  of  the 
Order !"  cried  he  wildly,  tearing  from  his 
rags  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and 
throwing  it  upon  the  snow.  "I  will  try  to 
earn  it  again,  that  you  may  lay  it  upon  my 
body.  I  am  my  own  judge,  and  I  show  no 
favor !" 

"  Setting  the  butt  of  his  musket  firmly  on 
the  earth,  he  pressed  his  breast  against  the 
muzzle  and  touched  the  trigger  with  his 
foot.  The  piece  went  off,  and  its  unfortu- 
nate owner  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  • 

"  Gracious  God !"  exclaimed  Bianca,  sink- 
ing senseless  into  Louis'  arms. 

Bernard  was  at  the  side  of  the  fallen  man, 
supporting  his  head.  A  last  spark  of  life 
still  remained.  "If  you  get  to  France," 
gasped  the  suicide,  "a  word  to  my  wife  and 
children — Sergeant  Ferrand — of  Laon" — and 
the  spirit  departed. 


As  he  closed  bis  eyes,  Bernard  remembered 
•him.  It  was  the  same  Sergeant  Ferrand 
whose  humanity  saved  him  and  Louis  from 
perishing  during  their  imprisoment  at  Smo- 
lensko.  Military  honor  was  the  condition 
of  the  veteran's  existence  ;  he  thought  him- 
self degraded  beyond  redemption  by  the 
murderous  aggression  to  which  misery,  pain, 
and  despair  nad  driven  him  :  a  woman  had 
sufpassed  him  in  courage,  and  that  was 
more  than  he  could  bear.  A  rigorous  judge, 
he  had  proftounced  his  own  doom,  and  ex- 
ecuted it  with  his  own  hand  ! 

Deeply  moved,  Bernard  knelt  beside  the 
body ;  he  gathered  up  the  scrap  of  tarnished 
ribbon  which  the  departed  soldier  had  prized 
above  all  earthly  goods,  and  laid  it  upon  the 
breast  of  the  corpse. 

"  Who  shall  deprive  you  of  it  ?"  he  said. 
"  May  it  adorn  you  beyond  the  grave,  amidst 
the  throng  of  the  valiant  who  have  preceded 


I>5 


you 

And  they  continued  their  journey,  for  the 
times  admitted  not  of  delay. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIII. 

The  sun's  cold  disk  began  to  redden,  and 
sink  towards  its  snowy  bed,  when  our  fu- 
gitives perceived  Malodeczno,  about  an 
hour's  march  before  them.  The  hope  of 
reaching  a  shelter  re-invigorated  the  ebbing 
powers  of  body  and  mind.  But  as  if  fate 
were  tantalizing  them  with  some  faint 
glimpse  of  hope  only  for  the  purpose  of 
bracing  them  against  new  and  more  formida- 
ble evils,  suddenly  the  heights  appeared 
covered  with  dark  masses — the  enemy  having 
pushed-  on  by  other  roads,  presented  himself 
to  dispute  the  possession  of  the  anticipated 
refuge.  At  first  sight  of  the  black  columns 
lining  the  heights,  the  unarmed  multitude 
crowded  together  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  when 
the  wolf  breaks  in  upon  ihem.  Ney  called 
loudly  on  those  who  bore  arms  to  rally 
around  him.  A  few  remnants  yet  existed 
of  a  once  well-trained  army  who  had  not 
yet  lost  sight  of  their  honor.  The  ranks 
were  formed  ;  the  few  cavalry  yet  serviceable 
closed  in,  mixed  up  from  every  regiment; 
the  artillery — as  much  of  it  as  had  been 
dragged  along — took  its  position. 

"  Soldiers !"  cried  the  marshal,  "  to-day 
we  must  fight  for  a  shelter  to  cover  our 
heads ! — for  the  wintry  night  is  more  murder- 
ous than  the  weapons  of  the  enemy.  Ne- 
cessity drives  him  also  ;  if  you  stand  bravely, 
you  will  destroy  him.  Think  of  your  own 
preservation,  the  glory  of  France,  and  your 
Emperor !"  ,  .,        ;     . 


NAPOLEON'S  INTASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


""Long  Eve  the  Emperor !"  was  the  cry 
which  resounded.  ^ 

"  We  have  no  horself '  cried  Rasinski,  to 
his  handful  of  followers ;  "  let  us  serve  at 
the  guns,  <for  mfen  are  wanted  there." 

A  hollow  reverberation  boomed  from  the 
iheights^  the  first  balls  were  sent  on  their 
deadly  errand^  they  struck  the  hard  frozen 
•ground,  ricochetted,  and  in  w41d  and  whizz- 
ing parabolas  flew  over* the  heads  of^the 
soldiers  drawn  up  *for  battle. 

"  You  fire  too  high  ;  we.  will  make  a  bet- 
ter shot,"  said  Rasinski,  stooping  down  on 
the   piece   to'  take  aim.     "  Now,  iire  !"  . 

Jaromir -fired  off  the  gun. 

"  Do  you  see  what  a  hole  that  ball  makes  V'' 
.Rasinski  es: claimed,  aa  the  black  line  on  the 
hill  was  broken,  and  the  blue  sky  seen  be- 
yond. Had  they  only  stood  as  many  deep 
as  they  are  in  line,  this  shot  would  have 
cost  them  thirty  heads. at  kast!" 

The  battle  now  began.  The  enemy's  ar- 
tillery poured  forth  its  thunders  from  three 
sides  at  once,  and  the  balls  struck  among 
the  crowds  of  harmless,  unarmed  fugitives, 
who  in  blind  haste  were  rushing  on  towards 


the  regular  ranks  of  the  brave  fellows  who 
v?'ere  risking  thdr  lives  for  the  safety  of 
■all. 

"  We  must  retreat  slowly,"  said  the  mar- 
ishal,  "  so  that  they  cannot  cut'us  off  from 
the  village." 

The  artillery  gave  one  more  salvo,  by  way 
of  a  farewell  response,  and  then  took  up 
their  position  a  few  hundred  paces  farther 
hack.  The  troops  followed  in  close  file. — 
Thus,  without  fighting  of  much  consequence, 
they  by  degrees  gained  a  position  near  the 
•entrance  to  Malodeczno;  But  this  short 
manoeuvre  had  so  severely  taxed  the 
strength  of  the  artillery-horses,  that  every 
moment  they  were  falling  down  over  one 
another,  and  at  last  could  not  be  made  to 
rise.  All  hands  were  put  to,  so  as  to  bring 
the  field-pieces  up  on  the  rising  ground,  from 
which,  the  access  to  the  village  could  be 
defended. 

"  We  can  no  longer  save  oar  gnns,  com- 
rades!" cried  the  marshal,  as  "he  galloped 
along  the  line,  ^'  so  we  will  at  least  sell  them 
(ieai'ly !" 

The  Rusaans  had  slowly  followed,  keep- 
ing up  their  firing  all  the  way ;  they  now 
seemed  to  ooncenlaate  their  strength,  pre- 
paratory to  making  a  general  onset.  But 
as  soon  as  they  showed  theihselves  in  full 
column,  the  French  artillery  saluted  them 
with  a  discharge  which  scattered  death 
among  them  by  hundFeds,  The  ground 
shook,  the  air  cracked  and  seemed  on  fire ; 
smoke  and  darkness  drew  an  impenetrable 
veil  over  the  troops.    The  enemy  speedily 


filled  up  the  gaps  made  in  his  lines,  and 
pressed  resolutely  onward,  sustaining  the 
attack  by  his  artillery.  A  second  discharge 
again  checked  his  force  ;  but  still  new  masses 
were  coming  up  behind ;  he  had  substitutes 
for  his  dead  and  fallen,  for  he  fought  with 
thousands  against  hundreds,  and  seemed  de- 
termined to  obtain  possession  of  the  village, 
cost  what  it  would. 

Rasinski,  Boleslaus,  Jaromit,  Bernard  and 
Louis  served  a  gun  together. 

They  had  procured  a  place  of  safety  for 
Bianca,  where  she  could  remain  in  their 
proximity,  as  well  secured  as  circumstances 
permitted.  Directly  behind  the  spot  on 
which  the  artilleiy  had  taken  up  their 
portion,  and  in  front  of  Malodeczno,  the 
hill  descended  about  a  man's  height  almost 
perpendicularly,  thus  forming  a  natural 
breast- work.  Here  Bianca  tarried  with  the 
child,  while  the  battle  was  raging  above. 
The  ammunition-wagons  were  also  drawn 
up  in  this  place,  from  which  the  batteries  of 
the  hill  were  supplied  with  the  implements 
trf  death. 

Though  Bianca  had  nothing  to  fear  on  her 


the  village  of  Malodeczno — as  well  as  into  ,own  account,   yet  her  heart  beat  in  anxious 


tumult,  from  knov/ing  that  but  a  few  steps 
from  her  those  she  loved  best  on  earth  were 
exposed  to  all  the  horrors  ti£  death.  How- 
ever solemnly  she  had  promised  Bernard 
not  to  leave  her  safe  retreat,  she  was  un- 
able to  restrain  her  anxiety,  as  the  thunder 
of  the  cannon  increased  to  a  hurricane.  She 
must  creep  up  the  hill,  to  ascertain  that  her 
friends  were  yet  spared  from  the  cruel  fate 
which  rolled  its  iron  stream  of  death  over 
the  fields  in  roaring  billows.  But  her  ut- 
most scrutiny  was  fruitless,  for  the  smoke 
lay  in  thick  cloads  over  the  batteries,  and 
nothing  could  be  distinguished,  but  black, 
unrecognisable  figures  moving  about  like 
sha<lows. 

The  noise  of  the  conflict  at  length  some- 
what lessened,  and  suddenly  it  ceased  al- 
together, Bianca  rose  eagerly :  she  must 
now  try  to  join  her  friends.  It  was  by  this 
time  decided  whether  a  fatal  blow  had  over- 
taken them  or  not.  Quickly,  with  the  child 
in  her  arms,  she  climbed  up  the  acclivity. 
Out  from  the  smoke  and  obscurity,  a  voice 
A^-as  then  heard  :  "Sister!  where  art  thou  ■?" 
It  was  Bernard.  Elated  with  joy,  she  ex- 
claimed :  '•  Hete !  here !  You  are  alive, 
bo'th,  all !"  and  hastened  towards  her  brother, 
who  ran  down  to  meet  her.  He  flew  to- 
wards her  ;  she  sank^n  his  bosom  ;  her  joy 
was  immeasurable.  But  he  gently  disen- 
gaged himself  from  her  embrace. 

"  Do  not  rejoice  too  soon,"  he  said  with 
pain — "  one  more  sacrifice !   Boleslaus " 


"God 
shrieked, 


of   mercy   and 
turning  pale,  "  is  He  gone 


grace 
1  he 


!"    Bianca 


293 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE";  OR 


"  We  fear  so ;  our  friends  are  bringing 
him  hither,"  answered  her  brother,  pointing 
to  some  men  slowly  approaching. 

AVith  faltering  steps  he  with  his-  sister 
went  ta  meet  the  comers,  who  carried  the 
pale  youth  in  their  arm«.  A  cannon-ball 
had  shattered  his  thigh. 

"  Lay  me-  down,  I  beg  of  youf"  he  said 
faintly. 

"Do  as  he  wishes,"  Rasinski  said  m  a 
low  voice,  shaking  his- head,,  as  if  to- inti- 
mate that  no  care  could  save  him. 

They  laid  the  woundeii  man  carefully  on 
the  ground.  Rasinski  kneeled  down  by  his 
head,  and  tcxDk  him  half-sitting  gently  into 
his  arms.  Jaromir  seized  the  right  hand  of 
his  expiring  friend.  Louis,  too  powerfully 
allectftd,. turned  away. 

"You  are  all  near  me,"  the  dying  Pole 
said,,  with  a  friendly  smile  on  hi«  lips.  "  I 
die  gloriously,"  he  continued  in  a  few  nx)- 
ments,  forcing  himself  more  erect ;  "  you 
must  not  grieve  for  me.  tdie  au  honorable 
death,  in, the  ai-ms  of- my  friends !"  Anoble 
pride  suffused  his  pallid  cheeks  w^ith  a» 
tiiig8,-and  his  courageous  spirit  shone  forth 
once  more  from  his  eyes.  "  I  die  contented, 
he  added  more  plaintively.  "Jaromir,. my 
friend,,  my  brother  !" 

Saying  thifs,  he  pressed  the  hand  of  his 
kneeling  comrade  with  fervor,  for  his  thoughts 
reverted,  to  the  imagp  of  the  loved  object  far 
away,  wJiich  silently,  he  had  carried  about  with 
him  in  his  heart.  He  thea  leaned  his  head 
HpoH  Rasinski's  fatherly  breast,  and  expired. 
"^The  Lord  receive  his  soul  ll^  Rasinski  ut- 
tered; with  grave  composure,  laying- his  hands 
as  if  in  benediction  on  the  head  of  the  de- 
ceased. He  then  turned  to  the  friends  and 
said  :  "  We  are  happy  iiv  not  being,  obliged 
to  leave  these  remains  in  the  wilderness. 
Night  is  coming,  on.  We  must  ead6avor  to 
reach  the  shelter  which  has  been  so  dearly 
purchased  ;.  and  there  he  shall  be  buried  !" 

He  pointed  with  his  finger  towards  Malo- 
deczno,  on  which  the  troops  were  now  falling 
back,  since  the  enemy,  foiled  by  their  indomi- 
table courage,  had  finally  relinquished-  their 
undertaking. 

The  cold  increased  more  and  more' as  the 
sun  went  down.  The  arms  of  the  bearers, 
with  their  sad  burthen,  stiffened  even  in  pass- 
ing this  short  distance.  Nt)thing  ehort  of 
the  most  hallowed  and  devoted  friendship 
could  have  imposed  upon  tiiem  this  last  tri- 
bute of  aflfection ;  had  it  been  for  any  one 
else,  it  wowld  have  remained  unperformed. 
But  these  faithful  fnends  eHcited  fresh 
strength  from  their  affection  for  the  dead. 

With  much  effort  they  reached  a  small 
house,  which  stood  aside  from  the  main  road, 
along  which  the  masses,  in  tumultuous 
crowds,  were  pouring^  into  the  village.    They 


unexpectedly  fbund  here  an  inhabited  dwelT- 
ing.  An  old  man  opened  the  door  for  the- 
strangers,  and  apprJTched'them  with  suppli- 
cating gestures.  Rasinski  called  out  to  him : 
."  Is  there  room  in  thy  cottage  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainlys"  the  old  man  replied,  re- 
joiced to•hea^hi8  own  language  spoken  ;  "I 
shall  be  glad  tO'  ta>ke  yeu  into  my  hovse.  All 
I  beg  of'  you  is  not  to  drive  me  out  oi  it 
myself  on  this-  brfter  winter's  night.  Grant 
me  a  place  wheteouito  lay  my  grey  head  !" 

"  Dost-  tboO'thinh  that  we  are  monsters  ?"" 
said  Rasinslii.  "  Thou  hast  nothing' to  fear." 

"  Then  the  Lord  reward  yos^"  eried  the- 
old  man  :  "  but  yesterday  they  drove  out  my 
son  and  m^y  little  grand-children,,  who  perish- 
ed before  my  dosed  door !  Alas  t  I  have' 
their  dead  bodies- in  my  cottage  !" 

"  Great  God  !"  cried  BLanoa,  seized  with  »< 
thrill  of  terror,  "  is  it  possible  !" 

"  We  also  bring  tlieq  a  dead  body,*'  said  Ra- 
sinski ;  "  his  sacred  remains  are  as  dear  to  us- 
as  our  ov\Ti  lives.  Wilt  thou. swear  t©  us  by 
our  Holy  Mother  Mary,  to-give  "him  a  Chris- 
tian and  decent  burial  J  I  promise  to  protect 
thee  and  tliine  house  as  long  as  we  >sliall 
abide  with,  thee." 

"  I  swear  it  hy  tlie  ever  blessed  Mother  of 
God,  that  he-  shall  rest  by  the  side  of  ray  own. 
children!"  said  the  old  man, at  the  same  time 
lifting  up  his  hands  towards,  heaven  to  wit- 
ness his  oath. 

They  then  entered  the  cottago.  .    ' 

"  Bring  your  dead  in  here, gentlemen,"  said: 
the  old  man,  going  before  them  with  a  light,, 
and  opening,  a  side-door,  which  gave  admit- 
tance to  a  small  room. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Bianca  exclaimed,  as  she- 
cast  a  look  into  the  room.  Oh  a  pallet  of 
straw,  covered  with  a  white  sheet,  lay  a  dead, 
man  enveloped  in  a  shroud;  he  was  in  the 
prime  of  life,  hut  looked  to  have  heennsickly.. 
Beside  him  lay  two  little  girls,  at  the  most 
seven  or  eight  years  of  age. 

Louis  and  Rasinski  carried  in  the  corpse 
of  Boleslaus,  and  laid  it  dovi'n  reverently  by 
the  side  of  the  sleeping  little  ones. 

"  Dd  you  see,  dear  sirs,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  yesterday,  no  longer  than  3  csterday,  the 
children  were  as  fresh  na  tv.'o  rosebuds — the- 
iiither  had' bc.ni  ailing  ever  Mncc  lh,st  spring — 
when  his  wife — no,  pard6rt  me  for  not  speak- 
ing about  that ! — no,  not  tliat !  Yesterday 
siTch  a  number  of  soldiers  crowded  in  and 
took  posbe.=?sion  of  my  house,  that  they  had 
no  ro9m^ — tliey  drove  us  outside.  It  is  true- 
they  were  in  a  bad  |jlight  enough,  but  still 
they  might  have  allowed  ua  seme  nook  to- 
crouch  in;  We  passed  the  night  under  the 
hare  heavens ;  my  son,  alifeady  weakened  by 
disease,  could  not  endure  the  hitter  cold ;  I. 
could  not  keep  the  little  ones  from  falling-  - 
asleep*— they  expired  in  my  arms.     I  alone 


W 


TTAPOLEON'S  TtiVASiaS  OF  RUSSIA. 


293 


remunecl  alive.  1  would  gladly  have  laid 
^ovra  and  died  too— but  I  have  yet  another 
daughter — it  is  for  her  sake  that  I  still  live. 
But  she  is  at  present  in  Wilna." 

While  the  old  man  was  pouring  forth  the 
sorrows  of  Jiis  heart,  the  men  had  adjusted 
Boleslaus'  garments  and  hair,  and  covered 
his  remains  with  a  large  cloak,  so  as  to 
keep  the  shattered  limbs  and  clotted  blood 
•out  of  sight.  When  this  had  been  done,  he 
looked  like  a  „person  slumbering — so  calm^ 
.-earnest,  and  noble  were  his  features, 

"  Let  him  rest  here,"  said  Raslnski,  sorrow- 
fully; "his  image  is  treasured  Within  our 
Viearts  in  lively,  dignified,  and  cheerful  char- 
4icters.  Let  us  preser\'e  it  so-;  it  is  not  best 
-to  tarry  too  long." 

Pursuant  to  this  wish,  all  stepped  back 
into  the  other  apartment,  where  they  were 
welcomed  by  a  warm,  life-restoring  atmos- 
phere. 

A  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  and 
-diifused  warmth  though  all  the  imaer  space. 
The  mariner  who,  after  bufieting  the  storms 
•of  the  vasty  deep,  enters  the  secure  haven,  is 
not  so  deeply  penetrated  with  feelings  Of 
safety  and  of  thankfulness  as  were  these 
wayfarers,  when  this  prospect  of  hospitality 
and  repose  sent  a  glow  of  fresh  life  through 
their  veins. 

A  sudden  knocking  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  Let'  me  open  the  door,"  said  Rasiiiski ; 
•"  as  long  as  there  is  room,  we  caruiot  be  so 
inhuman  as  to  leav^e  our  con^^ades  a  prey  to 
this  night  1" 

He  went  to  the  door,  which  was  eecurely 
feirricaded,  and  askeJ  in  French  : 

"  Who  is  thei;fi  without? — What  do  jou 
want  ?" 

Bernard  et  the  same  time  came  hastily  out 
and  said : 

"  They  are  some  of  our  own  men — -l  have 
lecogniaed  them." 

Quickly  the  door  wJis  opened.  Pive  half- 
frozen  soldiers  of  B,asinski's  regiment  lay 
around  it.  In  the  confusion  of  the  en- 
gagement they  had  lost  their  leader,  and  were 
now  seeking  for  a  shelter  in  the  village.  But 
every  house  was  filled  to  overflowing.  The 
place,  in  fact,  had  already  been  taken  in  pos- 
session by  Victor's  division,  which  on  ano- 
ther account  may  be  called  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance— as  his  troops  had  repulsed  the 
Russians,  who  were  pressing  on-from  a  west- 
erly direction.  Going  from  house  to  house, 
and  every  where  <lenied  admittance,  the  poor 
fellows,  almost  perishing  froga  the  cold, 
finally  found  an  officer  who  gave  them  some 
<5lue  where  to  find  Rasinski,  whom  he  had 
seen  crossing  the  field  with  Jaromir  and  the. 
rest,  as  they  carried  the  body  of  Boleslaus. 
PoUowing  this  direction,  t'h^y  had  succeeded 
in  finding  the  hut,  which,  as  it  oflea  happens, 


when  everybody  follows  the  Stream,  Tiafl  re- 
mained entirely  unnoticed. 

Joy  beamed  from  the  eyes  of  the  distressed 
men  as  they  entered  the  warm  room,  and  still 
more  on  seeing  their  commander  and  officers. 
The  latter  were  equally  happy  to  greet  some 
of  those  whom  they  had  believed  I«st. 

A  substafltial  repast  soon  refreshed  the 
weary  wanderers.  The  extreme  tension  of 
the  physical  pow^ers  now  preponderated  over 
even  the  deepest  mental  agony.  Soon  one 
and  all  laid  themsiSlves  down,  xaA  were  sunk 
in  the  profoundest  elumber. 

An  outrageous  rattling  at  the  door,  accom- 
panied by  savage  yells,  started  Rasinski  out 
of  his  -sleep.  He  sprang  quickly  from  his 
, couch,  and  listened  sharply,  before  answering 
the  calls,  in  order  to  ascertain  whetlier  they 
were  friends  or  foes.  He  soon  found  that 
they  were  itussians.  He  looked  hastily  at 
his  watch  ;  it  was  past  six  o'clock.  It  must, 
then,  yet  be  quite  dark  out  of  doors.  His 
companions  slept  soundly  all  around;  the 
old  man  alone  began  to  wake  up,  and  de- 
manded: 
•  "Who's  there T; 

"Rasinski  sprang  to  his  side,  shook  him  un- 
til he  was  fully  aroused,  and  whispered  to 
him:: 

"  Thou  art  a  lost  man,  if  thou  betrayest  us 
by  a;  single  word ;  let  me  manage  the  busi- 
ness !" 

The  frightened  old  man  signified  by  ges- 
tures that  he  would  obey. 

Rasinski  then  left  the  room,  stepped  to  the 
outer  door,  and  called,  in  the  Russian  lan- 
guage : 

"  Who's  there  ?" 

"  Russians,  Friend !"  was  the  answer.  "  We 
are  perishing.  We  have  been  marching  all 
night.  Open  the  door,  quick  ;  there  are  only 
a  few  of  us." 

"  It  is  God's  truth,  gsntleracn,"  answered 
Rasinski,  "  if  I  open  to  you,  you  are  inevita- 
bly lost ;  the  house  is  packed  full  of  French- 
men." 

"  The  devil  it  is!"  some  one  exclaimed 
outside.  "  How  many  are  there  of  them  T 
'•Over  fifty,  sir,  and  anumber  of  officers !" 
"  Then  hold  tby  tongue,  on  thy  life  !  In 
half-an-hour  ray  men  must  fee  htre.  I  will 
liasten  to  meet  "them.  Every  man  wlnchTthis 
house  contains  must  fall  into  our  hands.  In 
half-an-hour  we  shall  be  back.  Detain  your 
guests  at  least  that  time !" 

WitK  these  words  the  horsemen  departed. 
Rasinski  listened  carefully,  until  the  sound 
of  the  hoofs  was  lost  in  the  distance.  He 
then  shook  his  companions,  and  roused  them 
out  of  their  sleep. 

"What  is  the  matter!"  shouted  Bernard, 
starting  up. 
"The  enemy  is  at  our  heels!"  answered 


394 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;   OR, 


Rasinski.  "We  must  away  instantly  into 
the  village,  and  wake  every  one  not  already 
stirring.  In  half-an-hour  the  Cossacks  will 
be  upon  us !" 

These  words  operated  like  magic  upon  the 
drowsy  group.  Before  tluree  minutes  had 
elapsed,  all  were  ready  to  resume  their  wan- 
derings. The  landlord  was  obliged  to  pro- 
duce all  that  he  had  of  victuals  and  spirits, 
which  was  distributed  and  taken  along. 

On  arriving  at  the  first  cottages  of  the  vil- 
lage,  they  found  the  doors  o^ifen,  and  the 
houses  empty.  The  troops  had  already  de- 
camped. 

"  It  seems  we  are  the  only  ones  that  have 
staid  behind,  and  the  enemy  is  close  upon  our 
heels,"  said  Rasinski  to  Bernard.  "  We  must 
quicken  our  steps,  so  as  to  reach  the  woods 
yonder;  there  we  will  find  sufficient  shelter, 
even  when  day  breaks." 

The  previous  night's  quiet  rest  had  so  in- 
vigorated the  strength  of  the  wcanderers  that 
they  found  themselves  adequate  to  undergo 
fresh  fatigues.  Tiie  insufi'e ruble  cold,  how- 
ever, seized  upon  those  whose  garments  were 
not  sufficiently  thick  with  an  unremitting 
power,  especially  when  on  the  other  side  af 
the  village  they  ascended  an  acclivity  in  the 
open  field.  They  soon  came  upon  the  track 
of  the  army  ;  for  the  foot  often  struck  against 
dead  bodies,  which,  frozen  into  stone,  lay  in 
tlie  middle  of  the  rwid. 

Rasinski,  who  was  well  acquainted  with 
tlie  surrounding  country,  diverged  from  the 
main  road,  so  as  to  reacli  Smorgoni  by  a 
nearer  and  safer  piith.  At  the  same  time, 
the  forest  screened  tliem  from  the  sight  of 
tlie  punsning  enemy.  The  cold  urged  them 
to  tlie  utmost  speed,  so  tlrnt  when  the  dark- 
red  disc  of  the  sun  rose  above  the  horizon, 
darting  its  earliest  beams  through  the  green 
firs,  they  liad  left  the  night's  resting-place  a 
eonsiderable  distance  beliind  them. 

Bianea  endured  the  toil  and  hardship  with 
heroic  fortitude;  not  a  sound  of  complaint, 
not  a  sigh  escaped  her,  thougli  her  delicate 
frame,  it  v/ould  seem,  must  succumb.  Even 
her  looks  did  not  betray  anxiety  or  pain,  and 
being  constrained  to  refrain  from  speaking, 
she  often  turned  her  friendly  glances  on  Ber- 
nard and  Louis,  as  if  she  would,  say :  "  Never 
mind  me ;  all  will  yet  be  well !" 

Late  at  night  tlie  wanderers  anived  in 
Smorgoni.  The  town  was  full  of  soldiers, 
but  by  a  happy  coincidence  Rasinski  found 
Marshal  Ney,  who  procured  a  shelter  for 
him  and  his  followers,  and  immiidiately  after 
sent  for  him  personally. 

In  the  space  of  an  hour  he  returned. 

Without  uttering  a  word,  he  sat  down, 
and  leaned  his  head  in  his  hand.  Every  one 
was  silent ;  no  one  ventured  to  ask  him  the 
eause^ 


Thus  passed  another  night,  until  the  dawn 
awakened  them  to  new  dangers  and  troubles. 
When  they  were  ready  to  depart,  Rasinski 
stepped  in  among  bis  friends,  and  said : 

"  Now  I  can  tell  you  what  it  was  that  al- 
most crushed  me  to  the  earth  yesterday. 
The  Emperor  has  abandoned  ihe  army .'" 

All  looked,  upon  him,  petrified  with  as- 
tonishment. 

"  And  he  is  in  the  right,"  continued  Rasin- 
ski. "  Yesterday  I  was  as  much  shocked  as- 
you^are  now,  because  I  know  that  nothing  but 
an  unshaken  confidence  in  his  mighty  genius 
kept  body  and  soul  together  in  the  existing 
fragments  of  the  army.  But  it  must  needs 
be.  We  can  save  nothing  but  our  own  lives. 
The  Emperor  has  greater  problems  to  solve. 
Paris  is  now  the  stage  of  action  for  him. 
Here  everything  is  lost ;  he  was  compelled  to» 
make  haste,  hi  order  to  save  all  there.  We 
are  left  to  shift,  for  ourselves,  and  will  be- 
competent  to  do  so." 

They  left  their  quarters,  and  resumed  their 
march.  The  same  tediousness,  the  same 
scenes  and  struggles  were  repeated  as  yes- 
terday. The  sun  went  down  behind  grey 
and  heavy  clouds ;  singly,  slowly,  and  feebly 
a  host  of  pale,  shadwWy  figures,  plodded* 
through  the  snow.  They  seemed  to  be  the 
inhabitants  of  another  world,  which  the  friend- 
ly smile  of  that  luminary  never  greeted. 
Misery  dwelt  in  their  sunken  and  bloodshot 
eyes;  the  griping-nionster,  hunger,  grinned 
from  their  hollow  cheeks  and  distorted  lips  ; 
their  teeth  shook  and  chattered  from  the  pierc- 
ing cold,  and  their  vague  and  wandering  look 
betrayed  the  hoiTors  of  incipient  insanity. 
In  this  plight  these  frightful  objects  fell  be- 
numbed and  unconscious  one  over  the  other, 
and  where  a  rational  being  was  yet  found, 
among  them,  he  speedily  supped  full  of  hor- 
rors,, until  they  blunted  every  nerve  of  his 
system. 

Bianea  had  drawn  her  veil,  and  thus  shut 
out  the  heart-rending  picture  from  her  sight. 
Bernard  and  Louis  proceeded  by  her  side,, 
carrying  the  child  by  turns  on  their  backs, 
wrapped  up  in  a  large  comforter — for  they 
were  unable  longer  to  support  it  in  their 
stiffened  arms.  The  little  innocent  creature 
alone  smiled  amidst  these  scenes  of  desola- 
tion. The  cold  rendered  it  so  drowsy  and 
feeble,  that  it  mostly  slept  all  the  way,  but 
without  danger  of  freezing,  as  Bianea — with 
motherly  case,  enveloped  it  with  tiiick,  warm 
coverings. 

So  long  as  the  daylight  attended  them 
their  hopes  were  kept  buoyant.  But  as  soon 
as  night  spread  its  pall  over  the  frozen  earth, 
the  last  flickering  spark  of  courage  fled  from 
the  breagt,  and  even  the  stoutest  among  them 
was  bowed  dow^i  by  despondency. 

The  sun  had  disappeared,  and  the  twilight 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


Bet  in ;  the  road  descended  into  the  unex- 
plored dells  and  hollows  of  a  dense  and 
gloomy  forest ;  no  hope  existed  of  finding  a 
sheltering  roof.  The  huge  fir-trees  rose  like 
grim  giants  along  the  path,  overspanning  it 
wit|^  their  long,  hlackened  arms.     ' 

Large  bodies  of  men  came  to  a  halt,  and 
by  order  of  their  commanders  set  about 
estabhshing  themselves  in  bivouac. 

Bernard  gave  utterance  to  a  similar  wish  ; 
but  Rasinski  urged  his  friends  lo  hold  on 
their  way  a  while  longer.  Accustomed  to 
confide  in  their  leader,  all  followed  his  ad- 
vice.    Suddenly  Rasinski  stopped. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  he  said,  '.'  hare  let 
us  try  to  build  a  fire,  and  let  us  see  if  we 
cannot  weather  out  this  terrible  night." 

He  ordered  the  people  quickly  to  take  pos- 
session of  this  spot,  and  was  the  first  one  to 
put  hand  to  the  work. 

Bernard,  who  had  gone  armed  ever  since 
the  attack  made  upon  him  by  Sergeant  Fer- 
rand,  drew  his  sword,  and  hastened  to  help 
felling  some  brush.  Louis  busied  himself 
in  removing  the  snow,  so  as  to  obtain  a  free 
space  on  which  to  encamp.  Rasinski,  as- 
sisted by  Jaromir,  who  did  everything  unso- 
licited and  in  silence,  tore  the  twigs  and 
branches  from  the  trees.  The  united  efforts 
of  these  active  hands  in  a  few  minutes  ac- 
complished the'r 'object.  A  bright  flame 
shot  up  ;  the  ground  was  strewed  with  fresh 
pine  branches  to  form  a  couch,  which  was 
arranged  close  under  a  bank  of  earth,  so  as 
to  shield  them  from  the  wind ;  they  now 
turned  their  attention  to  prepare  their  care- 
fully-hoarded provisions  for  a  meal. 

The  blazing  fire  soon  attracted  straggling 
soldiers  of  different  regiments  ;  they  all  laid 
down  in  a  compact  half-circle,  as  near  the 
fire  as  the  heat  permitted.  It  appeared  as  if 
they  could  never  have  enough  of  this  life- 
inspiring  warmth  of  which  they  had  so  long 
been  deprived.  But  the  accession  became 
continually  greater.  Room  was  already 
wanting,  and  finally,  if  another  companion 
was  to  be  received,  it  had  to  be  effected  by 
some  one  already  established  exchanging 
his  place  for  a  less  eligible  one.  But  this 
was  not  the  time  or  the  place,  when  any  one 
felt  disposed  with  ready  sympathy  lo  sacri- 
fice a  part  of  his  own  ease  and  comfort.  Ne- 
cessity had  become  too  imperious  ;  the  line 
between  life  and  death  was  too  imminent. 

Rasinski  watched  th*  first  hour,  while  his 
friends  slept.  Jaromir's  turn  came  next. 
The  young  man  arose,  seized  a  long  stick  of 
fir  and  stirred  the  fire.  Everything  around 
was  as  still  as  the  grave,  not  a  foot  stirred, 
not  a  sound  was  heard.  Even  Rasinski 
slept  the  moment  he  laid  down. 

Suddenly  a  loud  laugh  burst  upon  his  ear, 


quite  near.  He  cowered  down  on  hearing 
this  unusual  sound.  From  out  of  the  sur- 
rounding darkness  a  grim  figure  stalked 
into  the  circle  of  fire-light.  It  was  a  gigan- 
tic cuirassier,  wrapped  in  a  tattered  cloak,  a 
bloody  cloth  bound  round  his  head  beneath 
his  helmet.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  young 
fir-tree,  as  a  staff  to  support  his  steps. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow 
voice  to  Jaromir.  "  Good  evening,  co;nrade. 
You  seem  merry  here  !" 

"  What  seek  you  ?"  demanded  Jaromir, 
amazed  at  this  hideous  apparition.  "  There 
is  no  place  for  you  here.     Begone  !" 

The  cuirassier  stared  at  him  with  his  hol- 
low eyes,  twisted  his  mouth  into  a  frightful 
grin,  and  gnashed  his  teeth  like  some  infu- 
riated beast. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  he  laughed,  or  rather  yelled ;    . 
"  Sleep  you  then  so  sound,  ye  idlers  !"   And 
as  he  spoke  he  stamped  his  foot  on  a  frozen 
corpse   upon  which    he    stood.      "Awake, 
awake  !"  he  cried,  "  and  come  with  me  !" 

For  a  moment  he  stood  as  if  listening  to 
some  distant  sound,  then  tottered  painfully  » 
forward  to  the  fire. 

"  Back !"  cried  Jaromir,  "  Back,  or  I 
shoot  you  on  the  spot !"  And  he  drew  a 
pistol ;  but  his  hand,  trembling  with  fever, 
had  not  strength  to  level  it. 

The  lunatic  stared  at  him  with  stupid  in- 
difference— his  sunken  features  varying  in 
their  expression  from  a  ghastly  smile  to  the 
deepest  misery.  Jaromir  gazed  at  him  in 
silent  horror.  The  huge  figure  stretched  its 
lean  arms  out  from  under  the  cloak,  and 
made  strange. and  unintelligible  gestures. 

"  Ho!  I  am  frozen!"  howled  the  human 
spectre  at  last,  and  shook  himself.  Then  he 
clutched  at  the  flames  with  his  fingers,  like 
an  infant,  and  staggered  nearer  and  nearer 
till  he  stood  close  to  the  circle  of  sleepers, 
far  within  which  he  extended  his  arms.  For 
the  first  time  he  now  seemed  to  feel  the 
warmth  of  the  fire.  A  low,  whining  noise 
escaped  him  ;  then  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  in 
tones  between  laughing  and  crying,  "  To 
bed  !  to  my  warm  bed  !"  tos^d  his  fir-tree 
staff  far  from  him,  stumbled  forwards  over 
the  sleeping  soldiers,  and  threw  himself,  in 
his  raging  madness,  into  the  midst  of  the 
glowing  pile. 

"Help!  help!"  cried  Jaromir — his  hair 
erect  with  horror,  and  seizing  Rasinski,  he 
shook  him  with  all  his  remaining  strength. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  cried  Rasinski,  raising 
himself 

"  There,  tliere  !"  stammered  his  friend, 
pointing  to  the  flames,  in  which  the  unhappy 
cuirassier  lay  writhing  and  bellowing  with 
agony.  Rather  conjecturing  than  compre- 
hending what  had  occurred,  Rasinski  started 


^* 


S96 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


up  to  rescue  the  sufferer.  But  it  was  too 
late.  The  heat  had  already  stifled  him ;  he 
lay  motionless,  the  flame  licking  greedily 
round  his  limbs,  and  a  thick  nauseous  smoke 
ascending  in  clouds  from  his  funeral  fagots. 
Rasinski  stepped  shudderingly  backward, 
and  turned  away  his  face  to  conceal  his 
emotion ;  then  he  observed  that  all  around 
liim  lay  buried  in  a  deathlike  sleep.  Not 
one  had  been  aroused  by  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe that  had  occurred  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  living  men. 

There  was  one  stirring,  however  ;  it  was 
Bianca.  In  her  sleep  the  piercing  outcries 
of  tlie  consuming  wretch  had  reached  ber 
ear.  Apprehending  sometliing  fearful,  she 
made  an  effort  to  free  herself  from  the  heavy 
•fetters  of  sleep,  and  raised  herself  in  a  sit- 
*ting  posture,  looking  anxiously  around.  Her 
eye  fell  upon  Jaromir,  who  stood  pale,  trem- 
bling and  bewildered,  looking  into  the  fire. 
Her  sympathising  heart  yearned  in  pity  to- 
wards the  unhappy  youth,  for  she  believed 
that  alienation  of  mind,  with  the  symptoms 
of  which  he  had  the  last  few  days  been  visit- 
ed, had  now  obtained  full  sway  ovdr  him. 

"  Dear  Jaromir  !"  she  said,  addressing  him 
in  accents  of  solicitude. 

He  looked  about  him  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression, and  appeared  as  if  awakening  from 
a  dream.  "  Ah  !"  he  sighed,  while  a  singu- 
lar melancholy  played  on  his  lips. 

"  It  is  nothing !  Bianca,"  said  Rasinski, 
hastily  ;  for  he  wished  to  prevent  her  know- 
ing anything  of  what  had  occurred.  "  Only 
lie  down  and  go  to  sleep ;  we  will  take  good 
care  to  watch  over  thee  !"  * 

"  Ah,  Lodoiska !"  hast  thou  at  last  for- 
given me !"  suddenly  murmured  Jaromir, 
his  voice  changing  into  a  violent  fit  of  weep- 
ing, pressing  his  head  on  Bianca's  hand, 
and  deluging  it  with  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Holy  Father,  what  is  that !"  she  ex- 
claimed, trembling,  but  not  daring  to  with- 
draw her  hand. 

"  Recollect  thyself,  Jaromir!"  said  Rasin- 
ski seriously,  trying  to  raise  him  up.  "  Re- 
member where  thou  art !" 

"Ah,  Rasinski,  she  forgives  me!"  cried 
the  young  man,  and  sank  on  the  breast  of 
his  friend  ;  "  she  is  a  saint,  she  is  angry  no 
longer  !  She  has  forgiven  me,  for  the  sake 
of  the  dying  Boleslaus  !  Is  it  not  so  ?  Oh, 
do  not  revoke  it !  Come  once  more  to  my 
bosom !" 

He  folded  his  hands,  looking  at  Bianca 
beseechingly ;  a  large  tear  rolled  down  his 
pale  cheek,  but  still  a  faint,  rosy  tinge,  over- 
spread his  countenance. 

"  I  am  not  Lodoiska,"  answered  Bianca, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  disengage  her  hand. 

"  Thou  art  not !"  he  ejaculated,  with  a 
bewildered  look.     "  Thou  wilt  not  be — thou 


hatest  me — thou  despisest  mc  !    Alas,  now 
everything  is  lost !" 

In  despair  he  threw  himself  again  on  Ra- 
sinski's  breast,  and  attempted  to  twine  his 
arms  around  his  neck,  but  his  strength  fail- 
ed him,  and  he  fell  back  insertsible. 

"  This,  too,  must  be  endured  !"  murmured 
Rasinski,  stooping  over  the  pale  and  pros- 
trate man. 

Bianca,  in  her  excitement,  wanted  to  call 
Bernard  and  Louis,  but  Rasinski  prevented 
her,  saying : 

"  What  help  can  they  offer  ?— Why  should 
we  lay  this  burden  upon  others  unneces- 
sarily ?-^It  will  perhaps  soon  be  over!" 
-  Rasinski  rubbed  the  youth's  temples  with 
snow,  who  at  last  opened  his  eyes,  and 
looked  vaguely  and  bewildered  around. 

"  Why  do  you  take  me  out  of  the  grave  ?" 
he  asked  in  a  hollow  voice  ;  "  it  was  so  quiet 
and  cool  there  below  !  Ah  !  I  see,  the  sun 
rises  gloriously,  and  shines  into  the  tomb ! 
How  beautiful  she  is  !" 

He  gazed  fixedly  into  the  fire.  All  at 
once  he  tore  himself  with  resistless  strength 
from  Rasinski's  arms,  sprang  up,  and  cried  : 

"  That  is  the  burning  pit  of  hell !— the  black 
spirits  push  me  on  ! — quick  !— quick  !" — and 
with  a  frightful  effort  he  tried  to  spring  for- 
ward into  the  flames.  Rasinski  grasped 
him,  and  held  him  with  the  energy  of  despair 
— Bianca  threw  herself  at  his  feet  and  clung 
to  his  knees. 

"  Help !— help  !  Brother,  Louis !"  she 
cried. 

Waked  out  of  his  sound  sleep  by  this  loud 
cry,  Louis  sprang  up. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  cried,  as  he 
saw  Jaromir  struggling  in  the  hands  of  Ra- 
sinski and  Bianca.  Bernard  also  jumped  up. 
It  was  indeed  high  time,  for  Rasinski,  with 
all  his  strength,  was  unable  any  longer  to 
restrain  the  hapless  man  from  rushing  into 
the  flames. 

"  Help,  friends  !"  he  cried,  «  help  me  to 
overcome  him,  or  he  perishes  !" 

Bernard  and  Louis  hastened  to  Rasinski's 
assistance.  On  seeing  the  distorted  features 
of  Jaromir,  they  suspected  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

'•  Oh  !  I  have  long  feared  it  would  come  to 
this  !"  sighed  Bernard  from  the  bottom  of  his 
soul ;  "  he  had  too  much  pressing  on  his  mind ; 
he  could  not  sustain  it." 

To  this  unnatural  taxing  of  the  faculties, 
succeeded  rapid  reaction.  The  arms  sank 
powerless— the  knees  gave  way  under  the 
unhappy  man.  He  burst  into  a  flood  of  heart- 
rending lamentations.  These  sounds  finally 
waked  up  the  sleepers.  They  sat  up,  looked 
first  astonished,  and  then  displeased  at  the 
uproar ;  an  angry  murmur  arose,  which  in- 
creased every  minute.    They  began  to  point 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


297 


at  the  unfortunate  youth,  and  some  vague  ap- 
prehension that  he  would  bring  misfortune 
upon  them  took  possession  of  their  minds. 

"  Who  is  the  madman,  and  what  ails  him  ?" 
savagely  exchiimed  a  bearded  grenadier. 
"  He  robs  us  of  our  precious  sleep !  Thrust 
him  from  the  fire — let  him  freeze  if  he  can- 
not be  still !" 

"  Aye,  thrust  him  out !"  was  the  universal 
cry;  and  several  sprang  to  accomplish  the  bar- 
barous deed.  Bianca  uttered  a  cry  of  terror ; 
Louis  caught  her  in  his  right  arm,  and  with 
the  left  kept  off  the  assailants.  Rasinski,  who 
at  once  saw  the  greatness  of  the  peril,  left 
Jaromir  in  Bernard's  care,  and  lea'ped  with 
flashing  eyes  into  the  midst  of  the  circle. 
Ever  prompt  and  decided,  he  snatched  a  half- 
consumed  branch  fromtlje  fire,  waved  it  above 
his  head,  and  shouted  with  that  lion's  voice 
60  often  heard  above  the  thunder  of  the  battle : 

"  Back,  knaves !  The  first  step  forward 
costs  one  of  you  his  hfe !" 

The  angry  soldiers  hesitated  and  hung 
back,  yielding  to  Rasinski's  Tnoral  ascen- 
dancy as  much  as  to  his  threat  of  punishment. 
But  then  the  grenadier  drew  his  sabre,  and 
furiously  exclaimed : — 

"  What,  tlastards !  are  ye  all  afraid  of  one 
man  1  Forward !  Down  wTith  the  Polish 
dogs  1" 

"  Down  thyself,  inhuman  ruffian !"  thun- 
dered Rasinski,  and  sprang  to  meet  his  foe. 
Adroitly  seizing  the  soldier  by  the  wrist  of 
his  uplifted  arm,  so  that  he  could  not  use  his 
weapon,  he  struck  him  over  the  head  with 
the  burning  branch  so  violently,  that  the 
charred  wood  shivered,  and  a  cloud  of  sparks 
flew  out.  But  the  blow,  heavy  as  it  was, 
was  deadened  by  the  thick  bearskin  cap,  and 
served  only  to  convert  the  angry  determina- 
tion of  the  grenadier  into  foaming  fury.  Of 
herculean  build,  and  at  least  half  the  head 
taller  than-his  opponent,  he  let  his  sabre  fall, 
and  grappled  Rasinski,  with  the  intention  of 
throwing  him  into  the  flames.  The  struggle 
lasted  but  for  a  moment,  before  Rasinski  tot- 
tered and  fell  upon  his  knees.  To  all  aj>- 
pearance  his  doom  was  sealed  ;  the  hero  suc- 
cumbed before  the  overpowering  strength  3f 
the  brute,  when  Louis  flew  to  his  assistance, 
dragged  the  soldier  backwards,  and  fell  with 
him  to  the  ground.  Rasinski  picked  up  the 
sabre,  with  his  left  hand  dashed  the  bearskin 
from  the  head  of  the  fallen  grenadier,  and 
with  the  light  dealt  him  a  blow  that  clove  his 
skull  in  twain.  Then,  erecting  his  princely 
form,  he  advanced,  with  the  calm  dignity  that 
characterised  him,  into  the  midst  of  the  as- 
tounding bystanders. 

"  Throw  the  corpse  into  the  snow !"  com- 
manded he :  "  lie  down  again  and  sleep.  It 
matters  no  more  than  if  I  knocked  a  wolf 
upon  the  head !" 


As  if  he  had  no  longer  occasion  for  it,  he 
threw  the  sabre  contemptuously  from  him. 
None  dared  to  murmur,  but  two  soldiers 
obediently  raised  the  bloody  corpse  of  the 
fallen  man,  carried  it  a  few  paces,  and  threw 
it  upon  the  snow-covered  ground. 

Rasinski,  still  chafing  and  vexed  like  the 
ocean  after  a  tempest,  walked  back  and  forth 
a  few  minutes  without  noticing  even  his 
friends.  He  then  suddenly  became  mild,  and 
said,  turning  his  gaze  on  the  delirious  Jaromir: 

"  Let  us  take  him  between  us,  Bernard. 
What  can  be  done  in  this  case,  but  to  com- 
mend him  to  the  mercy  of  Heaven  ?  Sleep 
may  perhaps  regulate  his  disordered  brain." 

He  laid  down  a  second  time,  took  Jaromir 
kindly  into  his  arms,  and  pressed  him  close  tn 
his  breast.  , 

Bernard  and  Louis  kept  watch  together, 
and  divided  between  them  the  tending  of  the 
fire.  The  night-wind  rose  sharp  and  piercing ; 
it  rulfled  their  cheeks  with  its  icy  touch,  and 
shook  the  towering  fires,  dislodging  the  snow 
that  weighed  down  the  branches. 

As  they  sat  silently  side  by  side,  a  low 
voice  near  them  was  heard,  as  if  singing.  It 
proceeded  from  Jaromir,  who  lay  awake,  his 
eyes  wide  open,  smiling  strangely,  and  sing- 
ing to  himself  half-aloud. 

"  He  is  dreaming  of  her!"  said  Louis ; "  that 
is  the  melody  of  the  song  which  Lodoiska 
sang  for  us  that  evening  in  Warsaw.  I  have 
often  heard  him  humming  the  same  tune. 
His  soul  is  then  far  away  I" 

The  two  friends  gazed  upon  the  poor  fel- 
low with  troubled  looks.  The  deranged 
youth  kept  singing  low  to  himself,  at  the 
same  time  looking  up  in  indecriba  ble  an- 
guish. In  a  few  minutes  the  melody  died 
away  on  his  lips,  and  he  relapsed  into  his  for- 
mer state  of  insensibility. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 

Rasinski  roused  every  one  to  prepare  for 
marching ;  the  thick  mist  of  morning  had 
settled  down  and  shrouded  the  forest  in  its 
grey  mantle.  But  it  was  not  a  humid  floating 
mist  which  stole  its  way  among  the  bushes 
and  underwood,  but  a  driving,  sleety  ice-dust, 
which  darkened  the  atmosphere.  On  inhal- 
ing it  into  the  lungs  it  struck  like  a  pungent 
poison.  . 

•'  Get  up,  get  up,  sleepers  !"  cried  Rasin- 
ski;  "  to-day  you  may  reach  the  end  of  all 
your  hardships  and  toil !" 

But  only  the  smallest  number  heeded  his 
call.  A  few  stirred — sat  up  and  groaned — 
and  then  tumbled  back  to  breathe  out  the  last 


.r' 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


vestige  of  life  ;  the  greater  part  already  lay 
locked  in  the  rigid  embrace  of  death ;  a  par- 
terre of  dead  bodies  surrounded  the  expiring 
fire.  Jaromir  sat  upright.  He  looked  like  a 
ghost,  but  he  was  yet  living.  Louis  and 
Bernard  were  aware  that  this  day  they  were 
to  put  forth  their  last  energies.  Bianca, 
strangely  enough,  seemed  to  be  the  least  af- 
fecte'd  by  exhaustion  ;  as  though  the  weaker 
frame  assimilated  itself  to  the  feminine  spirit, 
and  in  harmony  with  the  latter,  evinced  more 
fortitude  under  suffering  than  that  of  the 
sterner  sex. 

With  feelings  lacerated  by  horror,  they 
were  obliged  to  pick  their  way  over  the  bodies 
of  the  frozen ;  the  ground  far  and  wide  was 
strewed  with  these  objects.  Jaromir  seemed 
insensible  to  everything ;  he  walked  by  the 
side  of  /lasinski,  and  followed  his  every  ges- 
ture with  mechanical  obedience. 

The  dark  and  wide  woods  lay  hushed  in 
silence ;  for  those  who  were  encamped  around 
the  waning  watch-fires  were  either  still  fast 
asleep,  or  already  beyond  its  necessity.  Th'ey 
I  passed  by  enormous  fir-trees,  from  which  de- 
pended dark  and  ponderous  branches.  Here 
were  seen  frozen  figures  in  every  species  of 
attitude,  as  if  death  had  on  a  sudden  arrested 
the  current  of  life,  and  transformed  thera  into 
images  of  stone.  Some  still  held  in  their 
convulsive  grasp  the  hatchet,  with  which 
they  had  made  fruitless  attempts  to  fell  the 
gigantic  timber.  Others,  equally  unavailably, 
had  laid  fire  around  their  trunks,  trying  to 
ignite  them ;  fhey  were  observed  kneeling 
down,  the  face  projecting  close  to  the  gnarled 
and  knotted  roots,  and  the  yet  half-kindled 
pitch-pine  in  the  hand.  Arrayed  in  the  wind- 
ing-sheet of  the  icy  mist  surrounding  thera, 
these  objects  resembled  the  figures  of  a 
camera  optica  seen  through  a  magnifying 
glass,  uncouth,  and  lodging  like  huge  petri- 
fied spectres  in  the  sepulchral  stillness  of 
nature's  death-chamber. 

Rasinski  accelerated  his  steps  to  escape 
from  the  sickening  sight.  But  the  road  in 
its  entire  length  was  replete  with  these  ob- 
jects of  horror,  and  the  foot  at  every  step 
came  in  contact  with  some  terrifying  obstruc- 
tion. At  last,  after  an  hour's  march,  the 
forest  was  passed,  and  as  the  mist  settled 
down  to  the  surface,  a  bouse  was  seen  which, 
perhaps,  would  offer  them  shelter  and  warmth. 
With  redoubled  speed  the  wanderers  hastened 
towards  it.  But  as  they  drew  near  and  saw 
the  gaping  windows  despoiled  of  their  frames, 
and  the  traces  of  fire  on  the  ground,  they 
were  soon  convinced  it  was  no  longer  an 
abiding-place  for  human  beings.  However, 
Rasinski  stepped  up  and  opened  the  door  of 
the  building,  which  looked  like  a  barn  or 
stable.  He  started  back  with  a  shudder,  for 
he  saw  nothing  within  but  dead  bodies — a 


ghastly  throng,  with  the  eyes  staring  opeq. 
"  Is  there  one  human  creature  alive  nere  ?' 
he  called  in  a  loud  voice.  Everything  re- 
mained silent ;  the  sound  of  his  voice  only 
resounding  hoarsely  throughout.  "  Does  any 
one  still  live  ?"  he  repeated  more  loudly,  for 
his  heart  resisted  the  dreadful  idea  that 
through  all  this  promiscuous  throng  there 
should  not  survive  one  glimmering  spark. 
But  so  it  was';  for  when  he  drew  his  pistol  and 
fired  over  the  heads  of  the  prostrate  sleepers, 
nothing  stirred,  all  remained  still  as  the  grave. 

The  road  became  more  and  more  thronged 
by  stragglers  flocking  from  the  adjoining 
woods,  or  the  deserted  villages  in  the  vicinity. 
Our  friends  soon  found  themselves  again  in 
the  midst  of  a  dense  crowd  of  those  ghost- 
like, and  hollow-eyed  wretches,  who,  urged 
by  the  severity  of  the  weather,  had  put  on 
everything  as  a  covering  they  fell  in  with. 
But  amid  all  this  accumulation  of  misery 
nothing  inflicted  acuter  pain  on  these  hearts 
so  closely  knit  together  by  ties  of  blood  and 
fnendship,  than  the  deplorable  condition  of 
Jaromir,  who,  in  complete  alienation  of  mind, 
walked  on  insensible  to  the  privations  which 
all  shared  alike,  but  incessantly  broke  out  in 
paroxysms,  now  of  the  deepest  sorrow,  burst- 
ing into  loud  weeping,  now  into  maudlin 
laugh  and  merriment,  and  then  again  into 
ungovernable  rage  and  desperation.  In  these 
last  he  knew  no  one,  and  pushed  Rasinski 
away  from  him  in  blind  fury ;  the  friends 
were  obliged  to  gather  around  him  and  keep 
him  by  main  strength  from  laying  violent 
hands  on  himself  This  they  did  repeatedly, 
but  even  their  united  strength  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  restrain  him,  and  they  looked  with 
horror  for  the  moment,  when  a  dread  catas- 
trophe would  happen. 

This  was  their  last  trial  of  the  kind  !  The 
hour  of  deliverance  had  struck  at  last.  A 
cry  of  joyful  surprise  suddenly  broke  from  the 
foremost  files  of  the  troops,  which  momentarily 
rose  louder  and  louder.  Everybody  asked  and 
questioned  about  the  cause,  and  the  masses 
hasfened  forward  with  increasing  eagerness. 
Rasinski  and  his  friends  also  reached  the 
angle  of  the  road  from  whence  the  cry  had  first 
been  heard  ;  and  there  lay  before  them  Wilna, 
the  long-wished  for  haven  of  rest — the  first 
inhabited  town  in  their  route.  The  friends 
embraced  each  other — burning  tears 'flowed 
from  their  eyes,  for  the  sanctuary  was  at 
last  before  them,  after  so  many  sufferings  and 
sacrifices. 

Jaromir  gaaed  with  indifference  on  the 
tears  of  thankfulness  so  cc^iously  shed  by 
his  friends.  Only  for  a  moment  did  a  faint 
dawning  of  reason  arise.  With  a  sigh  he 
let  his  head  relapse  into  its  oblique  position  ; 
and  his  kindling  eye  was  again  fixed^  in  the 
wild  stare  of  idiotcy. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


S9» 


"  Lead  me  on  farther,  Lodoiska,"  he  said, 
beseechingly,  to  Bianca. 

The  latter  offered  her  arm,  and  they 
walked  on.  ^ 

But  the  goal,  though  so  near,  was  yet  dif- 
ficult to  attain.  The  road  was  already 
crowded  far  and  wide  with  a  mob  of  unhappy 
fugitives,  roused  from  their  stolid  apathy  by 
the  sight  of  the  longed-for  asylum.  In  blind 
precipitation — the  curse  attendant  on  this  re- 
treat throughout — they  rushed  on  towards  the 
town.  Already  a  heaping  and  crowding  be- 
came observaWe,  notwithstanding  that  the 
open  fields  affi)rded  room  in  plenty  for  dis- 
seminating the  masses.  What  would  be  pre- 
sented, then,  when  the  stream  would  become 
obstructed,  by  reason  of  narrow  streets  and 
avenues  2  Rasinski  contemplated  the  result 
with  deepest  anxiety.  He  apprehended  a  re- 
petition of  the  horrors  of  the  Berezina — hor- 
rors enhanced  by  the  mad  infatuation  trf  his 
own  comrades.  Now,  as  then,  the  entire 
crowd  pressed  on  in  one  and  the  same  direc- 
tion. Driven  by  a  senseless  animal  instinct, 
each  followed  his  ju-edecessor  without  judg- 
ment or  reflection. 

Rasinski  looked  around  to  discover  some 
by-path  which  they  might  turn  aside  into  un- 
perceived  ;  for  he  feared  to  draw  too  large  a 
number  after  him,  if,  with  his  littlfe  party  he 
was  suddenly  to  strike  off  into  the  fields. 
They  had  already  come  up  to  a  few  houses 
that  lay  scattered  outside  the  town,  and  were 
close  by  the  suburbs.  Here  his  plan  might 
be  carried  into  execution. 

"  Keep  yourselves  close,  my  friends,''  he 
said,  "  and  follow  me  quickly  when  I  turn 
out  of  the  road.  Behind  that  fence  we  shall 
be  able  to  reach  Another  of  the  town  gates, 
where  the  crowd  will  not  be  so  pressing." 

Jaroqair,  now  calm,  he  took  by  the  arm, 
and  let  Bianca  walk  between  Bernard  and 
Louis.  The  living  stream  began  already  to 
stagnate,  and  they  were  pushed  forward  with 
rude  violence,  rather  than  of  their  own  ac- 
cord. It  was  high  time  to  adopt  the  proposed 
plan. 

"  Now  1"  cried  Rasinski,  turning  to  one 
side  from  the  road.  Bernard  and  Louis,  with 
Bianca,  followed. 

M9ved  by  some  dim  conjiecture,  numbers 
pressed  after.  The  deviating  path  passed 
across  a  steep  and  slippery  slope.  Rasinski 
shot  across  safely  to  the  hollow  beyond,  but 
Bianca  slipped.  Bernard  and  Louis  both 
supported  her,  but  they  were  also  too  weak 
and  unsteady  to  keep  firmly  on  their  feet,  es- 
pecially as  Bernard  had  the  child  in  his  arms ; 
so  they  all  fell  down  together.  The  crowd 
passed  by  them  on  each  side.  It  did  not 
trample  them  down,  but  it  cut  them  off  from 
their  guide.  With  difficulty  they  succeeded 
in  gathering  themselves  up.     Bianca  was 


found  to  have  spH^ined  her  foot.  Bernard 
looked  about  for  Rasinski.  He  had  disap- 
peared, while  a  huge  mob  already  covered 
the  field. 

To  contend  against  this  current  was  out 
of  the  question  ; — to  escape  from  it  by  ad- 
vancing more  rapidly  seemed  equally  hope- 
less. There  remained,  therefore,  nothing  for 
the  friends  to  do  but  suffer  themselves  to  be 
swept  along  by  the  turbulent  billows.  The 
path  turned  and  meandered  around  the  angu- 
lar zig-zag  enclosures  of  several  detached 
farms.  Suddenly  it  branched  off  in  a  variety 
of  directions,  every  lane  being  already 
crowded  with  people.  Which  one  had  Rasin- 
ski followed  ?  It  was  beyond  conjecture  to 
know  ;  and  even  had  it  been  possible  to  as- 
certain, it  would  have  availed  nothing :  for 
neither  was  it  here  left  optional  which  path 
to  take,  but  ^very  one  was  obliged  to  go  in 
the  direction  in  which  the  ever-increasing 
throng  bore  him  on.  Bernard,  acting  upon 
the  same  principle  which  stood  him  in  such 
good  stead  at  the  Berezina,  made  it  his  chief 
object  to  elbow  Us  way  out  of  the  crowd,  so 
as  to  recover  the  chance  of  choosing  his  own 
way.  In  this  he  succeeded  before  coming  to 
the  first  houses  in  the  suburb,  where  the  mul- 
titude crowded  into  the  narrow  streets  like 
a  flock  of  sheep  pursued  by  the  wolf. 

Breathless  and  exhausted,  they  finally 
gained  the  open  field.  The  cold,  which  had 
so  long  and  ruthlessly  persecuted  them,  now 
became  their  friend  and  ally  ;  for  the  ditches, 
water-courses,  and  swampy  places,  which 
they  otherwise  could  not  have  crossed  in  their 
way  to  the  town,  were  all  converted  into  solid 
ice.  Their  circuitous  course  prolonged  the 
distance  by  a  good  half-hour's  walk — a  se- 
vere ordeal  in  their  teeble  condition  ;  but,  fi- 
nally, they  came  to  the  opposite  suburb, 
where  they  found  themselves  alone,  as  though 
no  army  lay  in  the  vicinity.  The  few  mise- 
rable dwellings,  however,  afforded  them  no 
relief,  for  they  had  all  been  abandoned  by  the 
inmates.  But  the  open  town-gate  was  only 
a  few  hundred  steps  before  them,  and  with 
unspeakable  joy  they  descried  some  welt- 
dressed  persons  in  the  street.  Trembling 
with  excitement,  they  entered  the  gate.  Even 
their  great  anxiety  about  Rasinski  subsided 
considerably  as,  in  viewing  the  inhabited 
houses,  the  people  busily  engaged  in  their  va- 
rious pursuits,  they  naturally  concluded  that 
he  also  had  found  a  comfortaWe  shelter.  Af- 
ter a  few  hours'  repose  in  a  warm  room, 
they  would,  no  doubt,  soon  be  enabled  to  find 
out  their  friend,  and  then  their  meeting  would 
be  doubly  a  happy  one. 

The  nearest  roof  was  to  them  the  one  most 
welcome.  Pressing  need  exalted  every  hui 
into  a  palace  ;  they  therefore  hastened  with 
faltering  steps  towards  a  small  but  friendly 


*''---^-^'^»  ••    >.'. 


300 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


looking  dwelKng,  where  they  saw  a  young 
woman  standing  at  the  door,  staring  like 
others  at  the  strange  appearance  of  the  three 
pilgrims. 

Bianca  being  the  only  one  of  the  party 
who  spoke  the  language  of  the  country,  called 
out  to  this  girl  in  Russian  : 

"  Can  you  let  us  have  lodgings,  my  good 
young  woman  ?  We  will  reward  you  liber- 
ally." • 

The  young  woman  suddenly  stood  as  if 
transfixed.    She  then  exclaimed : 

"  In  the  name  of  all  the  saints,  Countess 
Feodorowna,  what  brings  you  here  ?" — rushed 
towards  her,  seized  her  haAds,  and  covered 
them  with  kisses.  "  What  under  heaven 
brings  ji^u  hither,  and  in  this  plight  ?  Most 
merciful  God  !  do  you  know  me  no  longer  ?" 

"  Axinia,  is  it  thee  V  cried  Feodorowna,  in 
a  faltering  voice.  "  Axinia,  thou  art  our 
preserver  I" 

At  this  moment  her  strength  and  her 
senses  forsook  her  at  once.  She  became  giddy 
and  staggered,  but  Louis  and  Bernard  re- 
ceived her  in  their  arms.  Axinia  seized  the 
child  and  hastened  before  them,  crying  out ; 


"  Follow  me  I — Come  in,  come  in 


I" 


't     ^^ 


CHAPTER  XC. 


AxmiA  assisted  her  beloved  mistress  to 
bed  without  delay.     She  brought  whatever 
her  little  house  affoWed  to  minister  to  her 
wants.    In  a  few  minutes  Bianca  recovered,  ^flfectionate 
opened  her  eyes,  and  with  perfect  self-pos- 1 
session  looked  around  her. 

Axinia  entered  and  approached,  with  an 
expression  of  the  greatest  happiness  in  her 
features.  Bianca  now  made  inquiries  touch- 
ing her  own  fortunes,  and  what  had  kept  her 
still  on  the  Russian  soil,  which  she  had  been 
determined  to  quit  forever.  With  a  slight 
blush  the  young  wife  related  that  a  prema- 
ture confinement  had  overtaken  her,  and  laid 
her  on  a  long  and  tedious  bed  of  sickness. 
This  nearly  consumed  their  little  store  of 
tratelling-money ;  and  as,  in  the  meantime,  a 
situation  was  offered  to  Paul,  as  superinten- 
dent of  an  hospital,  he  accepted  it  so  much 
the  more  readily,  as  while  the  war  continued 
his  prospects  of  earning  his  bread  in  Ger- 
many were  very  doubtful.  Such  was  their 
position  at  the  present  time. 

While  the;  friendly  hostess  was  recounting 
her  little  history,  a  strange  noise  and  uproar 
arose  in  the  street.  People  flocked  in  clus- 
ters ;  others  ran  in  hot  haste  up  the  streets  to- 
wards the  centre  of  the  town ;  the  windows 
were  thrown  open  in  every  house,  the  peo- 


ple looking  out  fall  of  cariosity.  Axinia  did 
the  same. 

"  Holy  Mother  of  God  !  what  can  be  the 
matter  ?"  she  cried  out  in  great  fright.  "  Ah  1 
there  comes  Paul ;  he  will  tell  us  what  it  is !" 

She  hastened  out  to  meet  her  husband, 
who,  being  informed  by  her  what  had  taken 
place  in  his  domicile,  entered  the  room  bound- 
ing with  joy, 

"  Most  gracious  Countess  ]"  he  exclaimed, 
"  shall  I  dare  to  believe  my  eyes  ?  And  you 
have  come  with  that  niultitade  of  unhappy 
wretches,  who,  wild  and  howling,  block  up 
the  streets  ?" 

"  We  have  come  with  the  army,"  answered 
Bianca  ;  "  it  is  but  too  true  !" 

"  With  the  army  !"  reiterated  Paul  in  as- 
tonishment. "  This — the  army  ?  Never — it 
cannot  be  !" 

It  was  now  first  discovered  that  the  inha- 
bitants of  Wilna  had  as  yet  not  had  the  least 
intimation  of  the  dreadful  disasters  through 
which  the  power  of  the  Conqueror  had  been 
shattered,  so  concealed  had  the  Emperor  con- 
trived to  keep  his  misfortunes.  Axinia  and 
her  husband  with  terror  and  amazement  now 
for  the  first  time  received  the  intelligence, 
and  listened  to  the  portrayal  of  the  most  in- 
conceivable misery  that  ever  visited  the  heads 
of  a  doometi  host. 

Axinia  turned  pale  and  trembled  when  she 
learned  that  her  mistress  had  shared  in  all 
these  sufferings  and  privations.  She  threw 
herself  on  her  trembling  knees  before  a  small 
Madonna,  and,  amid  streaming  tears,  offered 
up  her  thanks  to  the  hallowed  image  for  the 
preservation  of  Feodorowna,  Her  care  and 
~  assiduities  were  redoubled  to- 

wards her  and  her  yet  unknown  comptinions. 
Her  grateful  heart  found  such  light  in  that 
she  was  at  least  able  to  manifest ;  how 
gladly  she  cancelled  the  sacred  obligations 
which  Bianca 's  noble  generosity  had  imposed 
upon  her. 

The  tumult  in  the  streets  waxed  greater. ' 
Single  individuals  of  the  unfortunate  fugi- 
tives were  seen  trying  to  find  shelter  and  food 
even  in  these  distant  back-streets..  The  first 
comers  were  received ;  but  when  more  ar- 
rived, even  whole  squads,  the  inhabitants 
closed  their  doors  in  alarm. 

The  repulsed  ones,  left  to  perish  in  theVery 
face  of  relief,  raised  a  terrible  cry  of  despair 
and  rage.  They  shook  the  doors  with  all 
their  strength,  and  threatened  to  set  fire  to 
the  houses. 

Paul  was  irresolute  what  was  best  to  be 
done.  His  humane  disposition  prompted  him 
to  take  the  unhappy  creatures  into  his  house, 
while  prudence  dictated  a  contrary  step. 
Bianca  spoke  with  determination. 

"  Receive  all,"  she  said,  "  that  your  house 
can  hold.    We  have  shared  their  wretched- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


901 


oess^  and  know  that  compassion  is  not  to  be 
withheld." 

Paul  was  about  to  go  down,  but  it  was  no 
longer  necessary.  Only  a  small  number  had 
strayed  as  far  as  to  this  corner  of  the  town  ; 
the  rest  were  already  on  their  way  back,  to 
try  their  fortunes  in  the  town  itself.  He 
hastened  back  to  his  guests  and  imparted  the 
news.  : 

Bernard  inquired : 

"  But,  boW  is  it  possible  that  now  these 
men  come  pouring  into  the  town,  that  no 
one  takes  care  of  them — no  preparation  is 
made  to  receive  them  ?  We  should  have 
'  been  here  half-an-hour  sooner,  had  we  not 
come  a  round-about  way  to  this  gate,  in  order 
to  get  out  of  the  crowd," 

"  That  is  the  true  cause  of  the  mischief," 
answered  Paul.  "  The  mob  is  so  jammed  in 
the  narrow  suburb,  that  no  one  can  move 
backward  or  forward.  The  gate  is  blocked 
up  with  wagons,  horses,  and  men.  Only  here 
and  there  is  one  able  to  force  his  way 
through.  But  who  could  have  supposed  this 
the  army  ?  We  thought  they  were  a  host  of 
marauders,  who,  in  a  retreat,  always  flock  be- 
fore the  regular  troops.  Orders  were  conse- 
quently sent  to  the  n>a"gazine3  not  to  make 
any  distribution  ;  and  we  dare  not  take  them 
into  any  of  the  hospitals." 

"  Merciful  God  !"  Louis  exclaimed,  "  then 
these  poor  outcasts  will  perish  through  the 
blind  and  selfish  scruples  of  their  own 
friends  1  Run,  run,  my  brave  friend^  back 
into  the  town  ; — tell  them  that  it  is  the  whole 
army  which  comes  to  them  in  this  pitiable 
condition  ; — urge  upon  them  that  one  hour's 
delay  must  cost  thousands  their  lives  !" 

Paul  hastened  away. 

The  three  friends,  having  themselves  found 
relief,  now  began  to  feel  great  anxiety  about 
Rasinski  and  Jaromir.  They  believed  until 
now  that  tliemselves  were  among  the  last 
who  had  found  a  shelter  ;  but  it  now  appeared 
that  they  were  indeed  among  the  most  fa- 
vored. Bianca  gave  utterance  to  her  fears, 
but  she  moderated  her  expressions,  fearing 
that  Louis  and  Bernard,  impelled  by  their  ge- 
nerous sympathies,  would,  notwithstanding 
iheir  own  exhaustion,  renounce  the  nursing 
care  they  so  much  needed,  and  sally  forth  in 
attempting  to  find  Rasinski.  She  was  right 
in  her  conjectures;  for,  as  if  pre-concerted 
between  them,  both  suddenly  exclaimed  : 

"  We  must  go  seek  him  T" 

They  departed,  promising  to  return  in  an 
liour. 

The  great  square  presented  a  distressing 
ypectacle.  The  hapless  fugitives  were  gath- 
ered around  the  magazines  and  the  hospitals, 
crowding  the  doors,  which  by  strict  orders 
were  kopt  closed  against  them.  Howling, 
cursing,  and  beseeching  were  heard  fearfully 


mingling.  The  inhabitants  hid  theraselvea 
in  their  houses,  and  bolted  their  doors.  Fm", 
truly,  the  strangers  who  had  come  among 
them,  blackened  by  smoke  and  mud,  with  the 
hollow,  agonised  looks  of  hunger  and  terror, 
resembled  a  host  of  frightful  harpies,  that 
threatened  to  fall  upon  everything  in  the  like-, 
ness  of  food  or  drink,  or  betrayed  any  affinity 
to  an  easy  and  comfortable  state.  Where- 
ever  a  door  opened  to  any  of  them,  there  was 
speedily  found  reason  to  repent  of  it ;  for  there 
was  no  withstanding  others  who  poured  in, 
and,  goaded  by  hunger,  cared  nothing  for  gra- 
titude or  forbearance.  The  blighting  curse 
which  followed  this  army  wheiever  it  trod 
the  earth,  held  its  sway  even  here.  Safety 
was  at  hand,  the  terminus  of  misery  was 
reached — but  fate,  with  relentless  mockery, 
lurked  in  this  very  spot  with  treacherous 
malice.  It  dashed  the  cup  of  relief  from  the 
wretched  victim's  quivering  lip  when  on  the 
point  of  quaffing  the  restoring  cordial,  and  left 
him  to  languish  and  expire. 

Louis  and  Bernard  ramWed  in  vain  throngh 
this  Bedlam,  where  no  one  cared  a  straw  for 
his  neighbor,  but  each  one  for  himself  sought 
in  blind  desperation  to  extort  relief. 

It  was  in  vain  that  they  shouted  the  names 
of  Jaromir  and  Rasiriski  through  the  streets 
— not  a  trace  of  them  could  they  discover. 

Thus  were  they  to  become  the  target  of 
Fortune's  most  venomous  arrows,  in  losing 
their  noblest  friend,  who  had  been  their  shield 
and  preserver  in  a  thousand  dangers.  At 
last,  giving  up  all  hope,  they  turned  'their 
steps  back  to  their  dwelling — their  own 
strength  beginning  to  fail  them.  They  had 
to  ''pick  their  way  Uirough  long  lanes  of 
stiflfened  corpses,  lying  before  the  houses,  at 
the  doors  of  which  they  had  fruitlessly 
knocked.  The  severity  of  the  weather  was 
still  on  the  increase. 

The  friends  drew  near  to  Axinia'a  hou^. 
with  hearts  oppressed  with  grief  and  regi5. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  ;  neither  imparted  his 
fears  to  the  other,  nor  did  either  dare  to  ask 
the  other  any  question.  They  were  already 
quite  near  the  hospitable  threshoW,  when 
they  observed  a  covered  travelling  sleigh 
with  post-horses,  coming  in  at  the  town- 
gate.  Much  surprised  at  a  sight  which  had 
not  met  their  eyes  for  months,  they  looked  at 
it  with  fixed  attention. 

All  on  a  sudden  Bernard  cried  : 

"  ft  is  Mary  !" 

He  seized  Louis  rudely  by  the  arm,  and 
leaning  forward,  trembling  with  excitement, 
pointed  across  to  a  female  figure,  who,  with 
veil  thrown  aside,  looked  out  of  the  open 
carriage- window.  Louis  had  scarcely  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  her  before  he  recognised  the 
well-beloved  lineaments,  and  with  a  cry  of: 
"  Sister  !  sister !"  endeavored,  with  faltering 


•"*■  t 


:j:. 


309 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE  ;  OR, 


steps,  to  hasten  to  her  side.  It  was  impossi- 
ble— his  strength  deserted  him.  Bernard, 
too,  stood  as  if  entranced,  his  arms  thrown 
around  his  friend,  hardly  knowing  whether 
he  supported  him  or  himaelf. 

"Sister I — Mary!"  they  cried  again,  and 
now  first  she  heard  them.  She  gave  a  loud 
scream ;  the  carriage-door  flew  open ;  and 
before  the  horses  could  be  stopped,  she  sprang 
out,  fell  down  on  her  knees,  again  rose  to 
her  feet,  and,  breathless  and  bewiWered,  threw 
herself  into  the  arms  of  her  brother. 

Speechless,  the  two  held  each  other  firmly 
embraced,  neither  of  them  able  to  compre- 
hend their  true  state,  A  mist  gathered  be- 
fore Bernard's  eyes — tears  obscured  his  vis- 
ion ;  he  turned  and  wept,  agitated  by  the 
,  most  poignant  feelings. 

Mary  suddenly  stepped  before  him.  He 
looked  up ;  glad  tears  filled  her  eyes ;  her 
countenance  was  radiant  witli  a  purified  sor- 
row ;  th-e  lips  whispered  almost  inaudibly, 
while  the  agitation  of  her  bosom  nearly 
choked  her  voice : 

"  Bernard,  my  dear  friend !"  she  faltered. 

He  seized  her  profFored  hand; — the  mo- 
ment was  overpowering. 

The  countess,  on  Mary's  leaving  her  so 
suddenly,  called  for  the  carriage  to  stop,  and, 
with  L<iidoiska,  followed  after  her. 

"  Oh,  ray  friends  !"  said  the  countess,  giv- 
ing a  hand  to  eiich  in  saluting  tbera.  "  Tell 
me  quickly,"  she  continued,  "  what  do  you 
know  about  my  brother — about  Jaromir?" 

"  They  entered  the  town  with  us,"  quickly 
rejoined  Bernard.  "  We  unfortunately  be- 
came separated  in  the  crowd.  But  come 
with  us,  ladies ;  we  have  found  lodgings,  and 
there  is  room  even  for  you.  The  town  is 
inundated  with  soldiers.  You  would  find  it 
a  difficult  matter  to  obtain  accommodation."" 
^  The  countess  freely  assented  to  Bernard's 
^oposal ;  yet  she  threw  an  anxious  look  on 
the  young  men,  whoso  countenances  bore  no 
expression  of  joy.  The  eyes  of  Lodoiska 
dwelt  with  painful  suspense  ojn  Bernard 
while  he  spoke.  A  surmise  of  the  truth 
seemed  to  agitate  her  frame;  for,  on  hearing 
the  name  of  Jaromir  mentioned,  she  turned 
as  pale  as  tiie  snow  under  her  feet. 

Bernard  led  the  way  towards  the  house.; 
As  they  arrived,  Axinia  looked  astonished, 
and  cast  a  glance  at  Bernard,  as  much  as  to 
say — Where  do  these  come  from  ? — where 
shall  1  find  room  ? 

"  Is  the  Princess  asleep  V  asked  Bernard. 

"  She  is  so  exh.austed  that  slie  lies  as  if  in 
a  trance,"  answered  Axinia.  "  I  cannot  call 
it  sleep ;  she  constantlv  starts,  and  calls  out, 
'Jaromir!'  '  Rasinski !'"" 

Bernard's  lips  quivered  upon  hearing  a  re- 
ply that  betrayed  almost  everything. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  cried  the  countess. 


"  I  adjure  you,  do  not  conceal  from  me  the 
trath  respecting  my  brother  and  Jaromir. 
Our  hearts  have  been  long  prepared  for  the 
intelligence  of  their  death — we  shall  knowhow 
to  bear  what  is  inevitable!  This  suspense 
of  torturing  apprehension  lacerates  my  bosom. 
How  then  can  Lodoiska  endure  it  ?" 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  latter  was  not 
near  enough  to  catch  these  few  words. 

Bernard  answerbd  in  a  whisper:  "I  can- 
iK)t  relieve  you  of  this  anxiety  ;  but  still  my 
hopes  preponderate  over  my  fears." 

Axinia  ushered  the  new  comers  into  a 
chamber  separate  from  that  in  which  Bianca 
reposed. 

With  what  blended  feelings  of  joy,  of  hap- 
piness, and  of  terror  and  wonderment,  did 
these  ladies  now  listen  to  a  rapid  sketdi  of 
the  trials  and  dangers  which  the  men  had 
gone  through  in  this  terrible  campaign !  Both 
hesitated  to  speak  of  Boleslaus ;  but  finally 
Louis  took  upon  himself  to  say  ; 

"  One  of  our  dearest  friends  has  been  torn 
from  our  arms !  Boleslaus  is  no  more !  He 
died  the  death  of  a  hero ! — ^ho  closed  his  life 
defending  his  flag !"  ^ 

Mary  wept  gently  in  the  arms  of  her  bro- 
ther, hiding  her  sweet  fiice  in  his  bosom.  Ber- 
nard •  sat  dejected,  his  head  leaning  on  his 
hand,  looking  fixedly  on  the  ground.  Lodo- 
iska heard  the  intelligence  with  a  lieaving 
bosom  and  blanched  lips ;  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks.  Was  it  some  dim  foreboding 
which  occupied  her  mind,  or  was  it  grief  for 
the  noble  youth  who  had  loved  her  secretly, 
but  so  faitlifully — and  on  whom  slie  had  be- 
stowed, at  least,  friendly  wishes  for  his  wel- 
fare ?  The  countess  rose,  and  walked  back 
and  forth  in  the  apartment,  as  was  her  wont 
under  excitement. 

"  Have  you  told  me  all  concerning  Rasin- 
ski and  Jaromir  ?"  she  demanded  with  earn- 
estness. 

Louis  paused  in  giving  an  answer,  for  they 
had  yet  said  nothing  of  Jaromir's  being  de- 
ranged ;  but  Bernard  was  more  resolute. 

"  Everything,"  he  said  quickly,  "  whicli  can 
be  comprised  in  the  few  touches  by  which 
we  have  endeavored  to  represent  a  picture  of 
so  melancholy  a  scene." 

The  countess  stood  like  tlie  statue  of 
Minerva,  majestically  efect.  Her  dark  eye 
seemed  to  pierce  the  hopeless  future ;  exalt- 
ed sorrow  dwelt  upon  her  lips — a  sublime 
severity  on  her  brow;  long  she  stood. silent 
and  motionless.  Then  a  gentle  smile  lit  up 
her  noble  countenance,  like  a  beam  from  the 
sun  which  flits  across  the  autumnal  landscape. 

"  I  have  yet  a  daughter !"  she  exclaimed, 
opening  her  arms  to  the  pale  and  trembling 
Lodoiska,  who,  sinking,  threw  herself  on  her 
bosom. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


303 


CHAPTER  XCI. 

Paul  had  now  returned  home.  His  ac- 
count of  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  town 
afforded  but  little  satisfaction  to  the  friends. 
Night  moreover  was  setting  in;  they  were 
therefore  constrained  to  await  the  rising  of 
another  sun. 

The  ladies  stayed  with  Bianca  in  her  cham- 
ber, into  which  Louis  had  ushered  them. 
What  happy  momenta,  sweetened  by  love, 
friendship,  and  the  sacred  throbbings  of  gra- 
titude, might  they  not  all  have  enjoyed,  had 
not  missing  friends  still  left  a  void  in  all 
hearts ! 

With  a  view  to  extend  at  least  some  alle- 
viation to  the  uneasy  women,  so  that  they 
might  pass  the  night  under  less  anxious  ap- 
prehensions, Bernard  persuaded  the  kind  and 
obliging  Paul  to  represent  the  state  of  things 
in  the  town  in  the  most  favorable  light,  and 
to  this  end  conducted  him  into  Bianca's 
room.  Paul  then  informed  the  countess 
that  it  was  only  in  the  first  confusion  and 
alarm  that  the  worst  symptoms  had  appeared, 
but  that  now  everything  began  to  assume 
the  appearance  of  order  and  quiet ;  that  the 
soldiers  were  received  into  the  houses  of  the 
citizens,  where  they  were  now  enjoying  re- 
pose; and  that  to-morrow  morning  they 
would  awake"  greatly  strengthened  and  re- 
freshed. To-day  it  would  be  impossible  to 
find  out  any  person  who  might  be  searched 
for,  because  every  one  who  obtained  a  shel- 
ter immediately  sought  rest.  The  countess 
listened  to  this  communication  in  silence ; 
she  resigned  herself,  but  no  cheering  ray  of 
hope  visited  her  breast 

The  demands  of  physical  nature  now  be- 
came presshig  upon  the  weary  wayfarers 
Bernard,  Louis,  and  Bianca  shortly  lav  in 
profound  sleep ;  but  the  countess  and  Lodo- 
iska  were  yet  wakeful  with  aftxious  thoughts. 
Mary  participated  in  their  sorrows — ^not  mere- 
ly from  the  liveliest  sympathy  of  friendship, 
but  also  because  her  heart,  however  strenu- 
ously she  had  wrestled  to  control  and  sub- 
due it,  still  beat  for  Rasinski  with  a  silent, 
deep  and  liallowed  affection. 

Paul  and  Axinia  remained  on  the  watch, 
from  the  sincere  interest  which  they  cherished 
for  their  guests,  though  they  had  modestly 
retired,  and  left  them  to  themselves. 

"  Hark !  Axinia,"  Paul  said,  suddenly  to  her, 
starting  to  his  feet,  "  was  not  that  a  noise  of 
some  one  groaning  ?    There,  again !" 

He  opened  the  window,  and  leaned  out  to 
listen. 

"  The  noise  comes  from  that  narrow  street 
across  the  way,  where  the  Jews  live !  I 
think,  too,  that  I  hear  their  grating  voices." 

They  both  listened  with  anxious  attention. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  heard  a  dull  sound,  as 


of  some  heavy  body  falling,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  loud  scream  of  distress. 

"What  .is  that?"  cried  Paul;  "what  can 
be  going  on  there  ?  Should  the  sanguinary 
villains  have -" 

A  man  called  out  for  help,  groaning  pite- 
ously,  Axinia  began  wringing  her  hands  in 
affright.  Suddenly  the  door  was  thrown 
op^n,  and  the  countess  entered,  carrying  a 
light  in  her  hand. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  dreadful 
noise  V  she  demanded,  apprehensively.  "  It 
sounds  hideously,  and  resembles  the  calls  of 
distress.     Go,  my  friend,  and  see  what  it  is  I " 

Paul  threw  his  fur  cloak  around  him,  and 
seized  a  lantefn.  But  Axinia  held  him  back 
in  a^irm. 

"  Who  knows,"  she  uttered,  "  what  shock- 
ing deed  has  been  committed  1 — and  whether* 
the  monster  would  hesitate  to  murder  you 
too !     Do  not  go  alone,  Paul !" 

"  I  must !"  cried  Paul ;  "  humanity  demands 
it !" 

"  Let  me  at  least  call'the  gentlemen." 

"  No  ;  let  them  have  their  sleep — they  are  • 
tired;  and  perhaps  we  might  get  there  too 
late !" 

"No!  no!  they  are  already  dressed,  and 
are  lying  down  in  their  cloaks,"  Axinia  re- 
plied again,  quickly,  hastening  into  the  next 
room,  where  Bernard  and  Louis  lay  fast 
asleep  on  a  truss  of  straw— the  house  beiuT 
short  of  beds.  Their  military  habits  beinw 
yet  in  full  force  with  them,  they  sprang  up  at 
J  the  very  first  summons. 

"  We  will  go  with  you !"  cried  Bernard, 
upon  hearing  the  first  dozen  words.  Louis 
seized  the  pistols,  and  buckled  on  his  sabre. 

Paul,  bearing  a  lantern,  preceded  them  to 
the  spot  wfcence  the  piteous  sounds  proceed- 
ed. It  was  a  narrow  lane,  running  parallel 
to  the  city  wall,  and  inhabited  entirely  by 
Jews,  Just  as  they  turned  into  it  thev  were 
challenged  by  a- manly  and  well-known  voice 
in  the  rear;  "Who  goes  there? — Wliat  is 
this  disturbance  ?" 

"  Rasinski !"'  exclaimed  Louis.  Paul  turn- 
ed, and,  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  face  of 
the  new  comer,  the  features  of  the  noble 
Pole  were  revealed  to  his  friends.  • 

"  Rasinski !  you  here ! — and  alive  I"  cried 
Louis,  throwing  himself  into  the  count's 
arms." 

In  the  tumult  of  their  feelings,  they  would 
have  mutually  imparted  their  adventures  since 
their  separation,  had  not  the  doleful  cries 
been  again  heard,  Rasinski  disengaged  him- 
self from  Bernard's  arms.  "  These  cries," 
he  said, "  have  aroused  me  out  of  my  sleep. 
Let  us  fii-st  attend  to  those  in  distress." 

Paul  again  walked  before  with  the  lantern." 
The  lane  was  narrow  and  crooked,  so  that 
they  could  not  see  far  before  them.  On  pass- 


mtiL, 


I'^nfj- 1   'I    i    >'..' 


304 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


ing  an  abrupt  bend,  they  distinguished  seve- 
ral figures,  which  fled  noiselessly  before  them, 
like  night-birds  frightened  by  the  sudden  liglit, 
keeping  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  Rasinski,  in  Rus- 
sian.    "  Stand,  or  I  fire !  " 

But  tlie  shadows  flew  onwards,  grazing 
the  wall,  and  gliding  uver  the  snow.  Rasin- 
ski rushed  after  them,,  stumbled  over  an  ob- 
ject in  his  path,  fell,  and,  in  his  fall,  his  pistol 
went  off".  Louis  and  Bernard,  close  at  his 
heels,  would  have  stopped  to  help  him  up — 

"Forward,  forward !"  he  cried ;  "  follow  and 
catch  them !" 

They  hurried  on,  but  only  one  figure  was 
now  visible.  They  called  to  him  to  stop ;  he 
heeded  them  not.  A  shot  fired  by  Bernard 
missed  its  mark — ^but  the  whistle  of  the  bul- 
let discomposed  the  fugitive,  who,  in  stoop- 
ing his  head,  slipped  and  fell.  Louis  was 
upon  him  in  an  instant,  inquiring  who  hg 
was,  and  why  he  fled.  The  stranger,  wh6 
wore  a  sort  of  long  black  caftan,  replied  in 
piteous  and  terrified  tones : 

'i'  God  of  my  fathers  !"  he  cried :  "  have  com- 
passion, gracious  sir!  Why  persecute  the 
poor  Jew,  who  does  harm  to  no  one  ?" 

"  Paul,  a  light  I"  cried  Bernard,  who  just 
then  came  up.  "  Let  us  see  who  it  is  that  is 
in  such  haste  to  crave  mercy.  His  conscience 
seems  none  of  the  best !" 

Paul  lifted  the  lantern,  casting  the  light 
full  on  the  Jew's  visage. 

"The  devil!"  cried  Bernard.  I  should 
know  that  face !  Where  have  I  seen  the  ac- 
cursed mask?  To  be  sure,  those  red-bearded 
Lithuanians  are  all  as  like  each  other  as  bullets. 
But  I  greatly  err,  Jew,  or  you  are  the  spy 
Avith  whom  we  have  an  account  to  settle, 
that  has  stood  over  for  the  last  five  months  !" 
A  shout  from  Rasinski  interrupted  the 
speaker. 

"Hither,  friends r'  he  cried;  "your  help 
here  P*  The  three  liastily  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons, dragging  the  Jew  with  them  in  spite  of 
liis  struiTijles  and  cries. 

DO 

"  Here  has  been  the  most  villanous  crime 
the  world  ever  witnessed !"  exclaimed  Rasin- 
ski, pale  with  horror  and  indignation,  as  his 
friends  joined  him.  "  Behold  our  comrades, 
driven  out  nuked  in  this  deadly  cold,  plunder- 
ed, strangled,  hurled  from  the  windows  !  In- 
human monster !"  lie  cried  in  a  terrible  voice 
to  the  trembling  Jew,  "if  you  have  shared  in 
this  work,  I  will  liave  you  torn  by  dogs. 
See!  here  they  lie.     Horrible,  horrible !" 

In  a  nook  formed  by  the  recession  of  a 
house  from  the  line  of  street,  lay  eight  hu- 
man bodies,  lialf-naked,  some  Avith  only  a 
shirt  or  a  few  miserable  rags  to  cover  them. 
Over  one  of  these  unfortunates,  who  was 
still  alive,  Rasinski  had  throAvn  his  furred 
cloak,  to  protect  him  from  the  piercing  cold. 


Louis  and    Bernard  shuddered  at    this  la- 
mentable spectacle. 

"  God  of  Abraham  !"•  cried  the  Jew,  "  to 
thee  I  lift  up  my  right  hand,  and  swear  that 
I  am  innocent  of  this  deed !  M:iy  I  be  ac- 
cursed with  my  children  and  my  grandchild- 
ren if  I  know  aught  of  it !  May  the  ravens 
pick  out  my  eyes,  and  the  flesh  of  my  hand 
wither,  if  I  speak  not  the  truth  !" 

"He  was  amongst  the  murderers,"  the 
wounded  man  faintly  gasped  out ;  "he  was 
about  to  cut  my  throat,  when  the  fall  from 
the  window  did  not  kill  me, "  and  because  I 
called  for  help.  Only  your  arrival  saved  me  !" 
'•  Fiend,  inhurrtan  fiend !  the  unspeakable 
misery  that  might  draw  tears  from  a  demon 
could  not  touch  you  !"  Thus  spoke  Rasin- 
ski between  his  set  teeth,  and  raised  his  sabre 
to  split  the  skull  of  the  Jew.  .  In  convulsions 
of  terror  the  miserable  wretch  embraced  his 
knees,  and  prayed  for  pity. 

"  God — Jehovah — mercy,    noble    Count, 
mercy !" 

Louis  held  back  Rasinski's  arm.  "Sully 
not  your  good  blade  with  the  monster's  blood,' 
he  said,  earnestly'  and  solemnly.  "  Leave 
him  to  the  justice  of  an  Omnipotent  Avenger !" 
"  You  are  right,"  replied  Rasinski,  quickly 
resuming  his  iiabitual  composure.  "  Think 
you  I  have  forgotten  ?"  said  he,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  loathing,  to  the  Jew, 
who  still  clasped  his  feet  in  agony  of  fekr."  I 
know  you  well  for  the  base  and  double  trai- 
tor who  once  already  escaped  well-merited 
death.  Nothing  could  save  you  now,  were  it 
not  that  even  a  villain  like  yourself  may  be 
made  useful.  Begone ! — and  warn  your  fellow 
assassins,  that  if  to-morrow  I  find  a  single 
dead  body,  a  single  mark  of  violence,  in  one 
of  their  houses,  I  lay  the  whole  quarter  in 
ashes, — men,  women,  and  habitations ;  and  I 
myself  will  be  the  first  to  hurl  the  sucking- 
babe  into  the  devouring  flames  !  Away,  dog ! 
Yet  will  I  mark  thee,  that  thon  mayest  not 
escape !" 

And  raising  his  foot,  he  stamped  thrice 
upon  the  face  of  the  prostrate  Jew,  who  bel- 
lowed like  a  wild  beast,  whilst  his  blood  red- 
dened the  snow.  Nevertheless,  the  murderer 
managed  to  scramble  to  his  feet,  and  reach 
an  adjacent  house-door,  where  he  stood  knock- 
ing and  calling  npon  his  fellow  Israelites  for 
help  and  compassion. 

"  Assist  me  to  carry  ofi^  this  much  injured 
and  abused  man,"  Rasinski  begged  of  the 
others,  turning  to  the  hapless  sufferer,  who 
with  stiffened  limbs  was  still  lying  on  the 
snow. 

They  lifted  him  up.    His  distressing  groans 

filled  the  air ;  but  before  they  had  reached 

the  larger  street,  the  sounds  died  away,  for 

the  powers  of  life  were  wasted. 

"  Thank  you,  comrades — ^it  was  too  late! " 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA 


305 


These  were  the  last  words  his  lips  uttered. 

"  I  cannot  eveu  give  thee  a  grave  !"  said  Ra- 
sinski  mournfully,  as  they  laid  the  body  on 
the  ground;  "take  thy  rest  here  with  the 
many  thousands,  which  the  implacable  rigor 
of  this  soil  refuses  even  to  grant  a  spot  to 
be  buried  in.  Is  it  not  enough  that  nature 
hunts  us  down  with  relentless  fury,  but  man 
also  must  be  transformed  into  a  hyena,  and 
break  in  upon  us  in  the  very  sanctuary  of  our 
defenceless  slumbers !" 

Louis  approached  him  with  much  sympa- 
thy. "  There  is  a  balm  ready  for  you  to  ap- 
ply to  these  wounds,"  he  said ;  "  we  have  joy- 
ful news,  sir !" 

"  You  ?  joyful  news  ?"  Rasinski  rejoined, 
in  a  tone  of  bitterness. 

"  Your  sister  and  Lodoiska  are  near — they 
are  here,  — ^you  may  embrace  them  in  a  very 
few  minutes !" 

"My  sister  here?"  he  exclaimed,  more  in 
dread  than  in  joy,  looking  at  Louis  in  amaze- 
ment. "Oh,  Johanna,  what  a  sight  awaits 
thee  here  !  Our  misfortunes  were  known  in 
Warsaw  then,  it  seems.  Ah,  Louis,  Louis, 
your  intelligence  is  as  bitter  as  it  is  sweet  T 
I  was  not  prepared  to  meet  her  now ! — and 
yet,"  he  added,  much  moved — "what  unspeak- 
able happiness  it  will  be  to  me  to  see  her 
once  more!" 

The  friends  conducted  him  to  Paul's  house. 
Before  entering,    Rasinski  stopped. 

"  And  Lodoiska  is  with  her  ?  what  shall  we 
tell  the  poor  girl  ?  Jaromir  is  lost — a  senseless, 
raving  madman, — if  he  be  not  already  re- 
leased from  his  sufferings !" 

"  And  if  she  has  come  in  time  only  to  re- 
ceive his  last  sigh,"  Louis  said  with  strong  in- 
ward conviction,  "  still  all  the  treasures,  of 
earth  would  not  counterbalance  this  happiness 
to  her  even  in  the  deepest  sorrow.  But  how 
do  you  know,  sir,  but  her  appearance  might' 
have  a  magical  influence  on  the  unfortunate 
youth?" 

"  So,  or  otherwise,  it  must  be  endured ; 
let  us  put  on  a  manly  resolution."  So  say- 
ing, Rasinski  ascended  the  steps,  exalted 
courage,  and  manly  resolution,  again  en- 
throned on  his  noble  brow.  When  about  to 
open  the  door,  he  once  more  paused,  and  said 
to  Louis :  "Is  thy  sister  here  also  ?" 

"  She  is,"  answered  Louis. 

The  twitchings  of  his  countenance  were 
only  hidden  by  the  obscurity  ;  and  the  tran- 
sient blush  which  the  proximity  of  this  gentle 
being  called  up  to  his  pale  and  care-worn 
cheek  was  seen  by  no  one. 

"  Let  me  enter  first,"  said  Bernard ;    the 
ladies  might  be  too  powerfully  struck  by  your 
udden  appearance." 

"  Not  my  sister,  at  least,"  answered  Rasin 
ski ;  "  it  may  be  so  with  the  younger  girls.  Go, 
then,  and  tell  them  that  you  havefound   me." 
20 


Bernard  ushered  himself  into  the  presence 
of  the  countess.  A  few  minutes  afterwards 
he  opened  the  door  for  Rasinski.  Lodoiska 
flew  with  a  loud  cry  towards  him  ;  he  clasped 
her  closely  to  his  heart  with  his  right  arm. 
His  sister  approached  him  tremblingly,  and 
leaned  on  his  shoulder ;  encircled  by  his  left 
arm,  she  breathed  out  her  feelings  in  a  tear- 
less kiss.  Mary  stood  back,  silently  weeping. 
"  Sister,"  said  Rasinski,  after  a  silence, 
and  disengaging  himself  from  her  embrace. 

"  And  is  it  thus  we  must  meet  ?"  she  cried 
in  a  penetrating  tone. 

"  Take  courage,  thou  noble  heart !  on  the 
other  side  the  grave  there  is  no  pain  or  sor- 
row !"  Rasinski  said,  with  that  fortitude  which 
can  renounce  even  hope.  "  Till  then,  we 
shall  know  how  to  bear  up  under  it.  Bat 
thou,  poor  child,"  he  said,  turning  compas- 
sionately to  the  pale  and  trembling  Lodo- 
iska, who  still  clung  to  his  arm,  "  what  com- 
fort shall  I  offer  to  thee  f  Thou  art  yet  so 
young,  and  hast  so  long  a  pilgrimage  yet  be- 
fore thee!" 

Lodoiska's  inquiring  eyes  were  rivetted  on 
his  face,  but  she  could  not  summon  strength 
to  ask  a  question  concerning  Jaromir. 

•"  I  understand  thee,  sweet  chil^  !"  he  said. 
"  Thou  wouldst  know  about  Jarpmir  ?  Lo- 
doiska, thou  art  a  daughter  of  Poland.  For- 
titude in  adversity  is  one  of  thy  duties  ;  for 
we  are  nursed  iry  grief  and  fed  in  sorrow. 
Thou  shalt  hear  the  truth.  Thy  friend  is  liv- 
ing, but  he  is  sick — grievously  sick — dismal, 
feverish  dreams  trouble  his  soul.  Prepare 
thyself  for  his  loss !" 

The  maiden's  bosom  labored  in  convulsive 
throbs.     At  last  she  uttered  : 
"  Where  is  he  ? — Let  me  fly  to  him  !" 
"  To-morrow,  dear  soul !"  said  Rasinski, 
soothingly  ;  "  it  is  impossible  now  in  the  dead 
of  night.     He  is  in  the  hospital." 

Mary  now  also  advanced  timidly,  and  said 
to  Rasinski : 

"  We  have  not  yet  exchanged  greetings. 
Let  my  first  words  be  in  support  of  her  prayer. 
She  loves — and  a  loving  heart  must  break 
under  such  torture." 

"  In  which  hospital  is  the  sick  person  of 
whom  you  speak.  Count  ?"  Paul  asked. 

*'  Close  by  the  gate  here,  in  the  large  build- 
ing to  the  left." 

"I  have  a  key,"  rejoined  Paul;  "I  will 
conduct  the  young  lady  there  myself." 

"  Praised  be  God  !"  cried  Lodoiska,  with 
fervor.  "  Thanks — many  thanks  !  Then  I 
shall  see  him  once  more  !" 

"  I  v.'ill  go  with  thee,"  said  Rasinski  re- 
solutely. 
"  And  I  too,"  added  the  countess, 
"  All  of  us  !"  said  Mary,  in  sisterly  svro- 
pathy. 
"  No,  Mary,"  answered  Rasinski.    "  The 


306 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OH, 


walk  is  not  easily  performed,  and  will  not  be 
a  pleasant  one.  We  must  undertake  it  alone 
—I  insist  upon  it !" 

In  a  few  minutes  the  countess  and  Lodo- 
iska  were  ready.  Rasinski  requested  Louis 
and  Bernard  to  remain ;  while  these,  on  the 
other  hand,  urged  him  to  allow  himself  some 
necessary  repose. 

"  Follow  my  orders,  for  the  last  time,"  he 
said.  "  Stay  to  protect  the  house.  I  must 
perform  the  office  of  guide  ;  for  no  one  knows 
where  he  lies  but  myself." 


CHAPTER  XCIL 

The  antiquated  and  dilapidated  building  in 
which  the  sick  aitd  wounded  were  packed 
had  been  a  convent.  Its  sombre,  shadowy  out- 
lines stood  gloomily  prominent  to  the  visit- 
ors. 

"  I  open  this  house  with  reluctance,"  said 
Paul,  "  for  it  does  not  look .  much  like  an 
I  abode  of  care  and  compassion  for  the  sufFer- 
\  ing.  It  is  destitute  of  everything — even  ne- 
',  cessary  food — and  straw  for  bedding  is  want- 
ing !  The  physicians  are  too  often  changed, 
and  the  few  young  practitioners  they  send  us 
hardly  show  themselves.  They  shun  the 
horrid  sight.  The  old,  decayed  vaults  cannot 
even  be  made  sufficiently  warm ;  so  that,  in 
this  severe  cold  moat  of  the  wounds  become 
immediately  gangrened,  and  the  unfortunate 
wretches  are  carried  off  by  scores.  The  whole 
house  is  nothing  but  a  huge  coffin,  where  the 
living  are  packed  with  the  deafl !" 

While  delivering  himself  of  this  remark, 
he  opened  the  door  with  a  ponderous  key. 

"  Are  there  no  attendants  here  during  the 
night  ?"  inquired  the  countess,  shuddering. 

"  Not  one,"  answered  Paul ;  "  there  is  not 
room.  Here  the  dead  must  all  the  time  give 
up  their  places  to  the  living.  Before  the  bed 
on  which  one  dies  has  had  time  to  cool,  it  re- 
ceives another  tenant!" 

Lodoiska  kept  silence.  She  did  not  even 
weep.  The  flush  of  fever  alone  swept  over 
her  face. 

They  ascended  the  half-demolished  stone 
steps,  and  then  passed  along  a  dark  and  long 
corridor. 

"  Here,  in  the  last  recess  to  the  right,  I 
found  a  place  for  him,"  said  Rasinski :  "  con- 
duct us  thither,  my  friend." 

"  Does  he  lie  there  ?"  asked  Paul,  in  signi- 
ficant alarm. 

"  Why  does  that  surprise  you  ?" 

"  Hem !— that  is  a  chill  and  dismal  place. 
It  lies  directly  to  the  north." 


"  There  was  no  other  to  be  found ;  and  the 
doctor  whom  I  saw  there  promised  to  have 
good  attendance  given  to  t^ie  sick  man." 

"  It  may  be  all  right,"  answered  Paul,  but 
in  a  tone  as  if  he  thought  otherwise. 

Their  steps  produced  a  hollow  sound  in  the 
lonely  gallery.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  save 
groans  and  meanings  on  either  side ;  the 
more  dismal  as  they  seemed  to  issue  from 
the  walls  themselves. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Paul,  opening  the  door. 

Even  Rasinski  shuddered  as  he  stepped 
into  this  room,  which  he  had  been  obligea  to 
choose  in  the  daytime,  glad  to  obtain  any 
shelter  for  Jaromir.  A  single  flickering  lamp 
filled  the  place  with  a  half-glimmer.  Wretches 
scarcely  half-covered  lay^all  around  on  scanty 
straw-pallets  ;  some  with  deep  and  frightful 
wounds,  others  dreadfully  dismembered,  and 
so  disfigured  by  wretchedness  and  filth  that 
they  were  hardly  recognisable.  Their  heavy 
breathings  and  hollow  groans  were  the  only 
sounds  one  could  hear.  An  icy  chill  pre- 
vailed through  the  vault,  for  the  windows 
were  partly  broken  and  gone;  so  that  the 
snow  drifted  in,  and. the  ice,  like  ever-in- 
creasing glaciers,  protruded  through  the 
empty  window-frames,  and  almost  touched 
the  wretched  inmates. 

"  Here,  then  .'"  said  Lodoiska,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  as  she  entered,  and  the  cold  chill 
struck  to  her  heart. 

Paul  held  the  lantern  to  the  faces  of  some 
of  the  Bick.  They  stared  at  him  with  eyes 
wide  open  and  ghastly,  without  moving  a 
muscle. 

"  These  are  gone,  friend !"  said  Rasinski, 
shuddering  ;  "  they  are  frozen  to  death  !" 

Lodoiska  clung  reeling  with  terror  to  the 
countess  for  support. 

They  were  obliged  to  proceed  between  the 
rows  of  recumbent  beings — this  dread  con- 
junction of  the  dead  and  dying — their  feet 
often  coming  in  contact  with  their  bodies. 
The  noble  figure  of  Lodoiska  hanging  trem- 
blingly on  Rasinski's  arm,  floated  like  an 
angel  of  bright  promise  through  these  pur- 
lieus of  corruption. 

"  It  was  well  that  we  came  with  thee, 
child,"  said  the  countess,  herself  standing  in 
need  of  all  her  inherent  fortitude. 

Paul  now  held  up  the  lantern  towards  a 
dark  corner,  not  yet  reached  by  a  single  ray 
of  light,  from  a  large  pillar  throwing  its  sha- 
dow in  that  direction. 

"  There,  lies  yet  one  of  the  sick  !"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  spot  with  his  finger. 

"  Mother  of  God  !  that  is  he !"'  cried  Lodo- 
iska, terrified  and  shrinking  back. 

The  dismal  solitude  itself  seemed  to  start 
up  in  afiright  at  this  sudden  cry  of  distress. 
Rasinski  supported  the  sinking  girl  in  bis 
anna. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


307 


"  Yea,  it  is  he !"  he  replied.    "  He  suffers 
-    i» 


"  Oh,  let  me  go  near  him ! — let  me  kneel 
by  his  side  !"  she  entreated,  in  faltering  ac- 
cents. 

Rasinski  supported  her  tottering  steps,  but 
Paul  had  to  remove  some  dead  bodies  before 
they  could  reach  the  straw  heap  on  which 
Jaromir  was  lying. 

He  lay  closely  wrapped  up  in  a  cloak  ; 
as  the  light  fell  upon  his  eyes,  he  raised  him-' 
self  upright.  With  a  vacant,  insane  stare 
he  fixed  hi&  gaze  upon  it ;  a  feverish  glow 
spread  over  his  emaciated  features,  and  he 
tried  to  dlutch  the  flame  with  his  hand. 

The  Countess,  resolute  as  she  was,  stepped 
shuddering  back. 

"  Is  that  the  youth  ?"  she  ejaculated,  •*  who 
a  few  months  ago,  was  as  fresh  and  jocund  as 
the  morning  ? — this  pale  and  shrivelled  spec- 
tre!" 

"  V/hat  do  you  want  ?"  said  Jaromir,  slowly, 
and  in  a  hollow  tone.  "  Why  do  you  come 
down  here  into  my  tomb  ? — ^Away  with  the 
torch  J" 

Lodoiska's  intense  suffering  was  firmly 
suppressed  within  her  lips  ;  love  itself  was 
struck  powerless  by  this  unprecedented  trial. 

"  Jaromir  !  collect  thyself,  and  be  a  man. 
Look  at  us,  and  know  who  are  with  thee !" 
said  Rasinski,  Ijiying  his  warm  hand  on  the 
unfortunate  young  man's  brow. 

It  was  apparent  to  all  how  his  wandering 
mind  struggled  with  the  dimly  arising  con- 
sciousness called  forth  by  the  %ppearance  of 
Rasinski. 

At  last  Lodoiska's  conflict  with  herself  was 
at  an  end.  She  kneeled  down  by  her  be- 
trothed, took  hold  of  his  hand,  looked  into  his 
face,  and  uttered  in  broken  accents': 

"  Jaromir,  dost  thou  not  know  me  more  ? 
Ob !  only  give  me  some  token  that  thou  stiil 
lovest  me !" 

Twice  the  maniac  passed  his  hand  across 
his  forehead,  as  if  he  wished  to  remove 
thence  some  pain  or  oppression ;  a  sudden 
and  evanescent  ray  then  shot  from  his  dull 
eye. 

"  Lodoiska !"  he  cried,  and  tried  to  raise 
his  arms ;  but  it  was  in  vain ;  he  drew  a 
deep  breath  from  his  innermost  heart,  then 
his  frame  collapsed,  the  eyes,  closed,  and  he 
sank  motionless  back  on  the  straw. 

"  Blessed  saints  and  angels,  help  him ! — he 
is  dying!"  cried  Lodoiska,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"  No,  no !  he  is  only  overpowered !"  said 
Rasinski.  "  Let  us  take  advantage  of  this 
swoon,  to  remove  him  from  this  horrible 
place.  " 

"  My  friend,  the  period  of  reward  will  ar- 
rive," she  said,  turning  to  Paul.  "  But  now 
yon  must  lend  me  your  assistance ;  help  me 


to  carry  this  unfortunate  yoath  to  your  house. 
Here  he  must  becomb  death's  prey !" 

Honest  Paul  was  ready  to  help. 

"  Willingly,  willmgly,"  he  cried,  "  and  it 
can  easily  be  done.  There  are  litters  out' in 
the  passage,  and  there  is  room  for  one  more 
in  my  house,  I  dare  say." 

They  immediately  put  hand  to  the  work, 
and  carried  out  the  lunatic.  Lodoiska  hang- 
ing on  the  arm  of  the  Countess,  staggered 
after  them.  Paul  and  Rasinski  himself  vig- 
orously lifted  the  litter. 

They  soon  reached  Paul's  house ;  the 
faithful  companions  received  their  unBappy 
friend.  Mary  and  Lodoiska  seated  themselves 
by  the  litter,  to  attend  him  during  the  night. 

He  lay  in  a  perturbed  half-slumber,  talk- 
ing frequently  in  his  feverish  'delirium.  The 
names  of  Lodoiska  and  Bianca  were  fre- 
quently on  his  lips.    Only  once  he  cried  out : 

"  Alisette,  Alisetle,thouJbeautiful  serpent  !'* 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  feelings 
Lodoiska  heard  him  utter  this  name  !  She 
had  forgiven  him  so  fully,  so  magnanimously, 
and  his  temptress  and  i)eguiler  also  !  Oh, 
that  she  had  been  able  to  pour  this  balm  of 
consolation  into  his  lacerated' breast 

Mary,  overcome  with  weariness,  had  fallen 
asleep  in  an  arm-chair.  Lodoiska  found 
hope  and  relief  only  in  the  ardent  and  pious 
prayers  which  she  offered  to  heaven.  She 
knelt  down ;  raising  her  face  and  her  heart 
upwards  she  besought  the  Almighty  from  a 
full  and  believing  faith.  ^ 

The  tedious  night  at  last  gradually  gave 
place  to  the  grey  dawn  of  approaching  day. 
Lodoiska  went  to  the  window.  The  sky  was 
clear ;  the  twinkling  light  of  the  fading  stars 
were  yet  seen.  A  purple  tint  glimmered  on 
the  eastern  horizon,  giving  a  roseate  hue  to 
the  fleecy  clouds.  L(xloiska  stood  lost  in  pro- 
found thought ;  tears  dimmed  her  eyes ; 
but  they  were  tears  mild  and  beneficent,  be- 
cause they  flowed  from  a  fountain  of  holy 
trust  and  reliance,  which  after  these  past  in- 
flictions sprang  up  in  her  breast.  She  turned 
her  head  to  the  couch  on  which  lay  her  lover. 
He  slept  calmly,  and  breathed  quietly ;  a 
smile  even  hovered  on  his  lips,  and  the  first 
ray  of  morning  fell  gently  upon  his  pale 
cheek. 

It  was  no  longer  the  stupefaction  of  in- 
sanity in  which  he  lay  fettered,  but  a  refresh- 
ing sleep,  which  had  followed  upon  his  ex- 
haustion. 

"  Holy  Mother  of  Grod,  surround  him  with 
thy  blessed  presence!"  cried  Lodoiska,  while 
she  approached  tremblingly.  ■  An  oppressive 
sensation  rushed  to  her  heart ;  the  hope  arose 
within  her,  that  on  awakening  he  would  know 
his  friends.  Stooping  over  him  with  sup- 
pressed breath,  she  listened  to  his  respiration 
and  the  beating  of  hia  heart 


,.'A.'  .Ml  JlI^*.;.. 


".ti- 


9# 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


The  approach  of  morning  dispelled  much 
of  the  room's  mournful  aspect.  The  face  of 
the  sleeper  partook  of  its  change.  Suddenly 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  said,  faintly  : 

♦'  It  is  over  now  !" 

His  look  was  no  longer  wild  and  wander- 
ing ;  an  inexpressible  beaming  was  impressed 
on  his  features.  Heaven  seemed  to  descend 
with  its  raptures  into  Lodoiska's  breast ;  but 
she  checked  herself,  fearing  by  giving  way 
too  rudely,  to  snap  the  the  fragile,  new-recov- 
ered thread  of  reason  and  consciousness. 
She  a^ed  only  in  a  soft  whisper  : 

"  Art  thou  better,  my  friend  ?" 

He  folded  his  hands  on  his  breast,  raised 
his  bead  a  little,  and  in  a  tone  of  trembling 
adoration  uttered : 

"  Oh,  I  know  thee,  thou  holy  one,  sur- 
rounded as  thou  art  by  the  golden  glory  of 
heaven  !  Thou  art  now  a  blessed  spirit,  and 
the  gates  of  Peace  unfold  themselves  to  me 
also !  Oh,  reach  me  thy  hand,  in  token  of 
reconciliation !" 

The  sufferer,  it  was  plain,  still  dwelt  in 
the  region  of  visions  : — when  she  now,  sur- 
rounded as  with  a  halo  from  the  bright  re- 
flection of  the  coming  king  of  day,  was  kneel- 
ing.before  him  with  ner  flowing  locks  rolling 
over  her  shoulders,  the  faint  and  evanescent 
images  of  dreaming  were  imperceptibly  trans- 
formed into  reality  to  him. 

Lodoiska  extended  her  hand  gently  to  him, 
and  whispered  in  a  sweet,  trembling  tone  : 

"  Dost  thou  at  last  know  me  again  7  Oh, 
thoa  hast  had  a  long  dream  f  It  is  I  myself, 
Jaromir,  living  and  real  f" 

"  Holy  Father  .'"  he  stammered,  "  where 
am  1  then  ? — where  was  I  ? — No,  no,  ye  fear- 
ful spectres  of  the  night !  do  not  come  back 
out  of  that  horrid  dartaiess  !" 

He  made  a  repelling  motion  of  the  hand, 
shrinking  to  one  side.  Lodoiska,  as  if  to  hide 
him  from  these  terrifying  visions,  wound  her 
arms  tremblingly  around  his  neck,  and  gently 
kissing  him,  drew  him  towards  her. 

"  No,  no,  my  love,"  she  faltered,  "  fear 
nothing ;  thou  shalt  breathe  and  rest  here  ;  no 
frightful  dream  shall  torment  thee  more  !" 

The  maniac  pressed  his  fuce  to  the  bosom 
of  the  maiden.  As  his  cheek  rested  on  her 
breast,  his  ear  detected  the  heart's  pulsation. 
He  awoke  at  once  to  a  sense  of  truth  and 
reality  ;  the  veil  which  had  shrouded  his 
soul  in  darkness  was  rent — but  the  last  link 
of  life  was  severed  by  the  effort.  He  fell 
back,  with  a  long  drawn  sigh,  and  expired  ! 


CHAPTER  XCIII. 


■»./,'/" 


The  grey  stillness  of  morning  was  now 
made  to  resound  with  the  hollow  crashing 
thunder  of  cannon-shots,  which. caused  the 
windows  of  the  house  to  rattle. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  cried  Rasinski,  springing^ 
up  ready  for  battle. 

But  before  the  words  had  passed  his  lips, 
the  whole  tier  of  a  heavy  battery  was  heard, 
shaking  the>  earth  under  their  feet. 

"  Holy  Father !"  exclaimed  the  Countess, 
"  are  we  so  near  the  conflict  7" 

Mary  stood  pale  and  trembling,  being  alto- 
gether unaccustomed  to  this  sort  of  music. 

"I  must  go,"  said  Rasinski,  resolutely, 
"  we  are  attacked,  it  seems  !" 

"  We  will  go  with  you  T'  cried  Louis, 
equally  prompt ;  and  Bernard  sprang  to  seize 
his  arms. 

"  No,  not  by  any  means  !"  said  Rasinski, 
authoritatively.  "  You  have  nothing  more 
to  fight  for  in  this  contest.  Stay  and  protect 
those  who  iare  dearest  to  you  and  me." 

"  We  will  not  suffer  you  to  go  alone  into 
the  battle,"  cried  Louis  vehemently,  endea- 
voring to  detain  him. 

"  I  ou  shall — you  must !  Duty  calls  me  ; 
you  she  binds  to  this  spot,"  Rasinski  an- 
swered firmly,  pushing  Louis  back  from  him. 

"No — you  cannot  take  from  us  the  privi- 
lege to  stand  by  your  side  in  battle  !"  said 
Bernard  ;  "  you  can  never  absolve  our  souls, 
in  case  you  fall  where  the  assistance  of  a 
friend  would  fiavc  saved  you  !" 

The  drums  rattled  with  deafening  noise  in 
the  narrow  streets.  Wild  outcries,  the  firing 
of  cannon,  and  the  clangor  of  trumpets 
mingling  together,  created  a  terrible  din, 
while  soldiers  and  people  clustered  together. 

"  If  ye  ever  have  respected  my  will,"  cried 
Rasinski,  summoning  all  his  natural  dignity, 
"  stay  where  ye  are  !  At  this  moment,  yield 
obedience  to  my  wish  for  the  last  time.  I 
command  you  to  remain  I"" 

The  ladies  were  too  excited  by  terror  and 
grief,  to  feel  in  its  full  force  the  interest 
which  this  magnanimous  contest  would  other- 
wise have  excited.  They  experienced,  though 
unconsciously  to  themselves,  the  beneficial 
effect  of  severe  dispensations,  which,  when 
falling  in  repeated  strokes  from  various  quar- 
ters, simultaneously  seem  to  neutralise  one 
another,  because  the  hunvan  breast,  like  a 
vessef,  is  capable  of  receiving  only  hs  mea- 
sure. 

Mary  alone,  whom  the  death  of  Jaromir 
naturally  affected  only,  secondarily,  was  fully 
alive  to  the  issue  of  this  noble  contest  between 
the  devoted  friends.  While  beholding  how 
readily  the  brave  man — the  man  who  once 
offered  her  his  heart,  and  in  so  doing  had 
won  her  own,  now  again  threw  himselr  into 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


the  midst  of  danger — devoted  himself  anew 
to  glory  and  his  country — the  smothered 
flame  arose  in  all  its  strength,  and  caused 
her  to  tremble  for  his  life  and  safety. 

Urged  by  these  feelings,  she  stepped  in 
between  the  men. 

"  Does  duty  yet  claim  your  sharing  in  the 
battle  ?"  she  asked  Rasinski ;  *'  is  it  still  your 
duty  to  offer  yourself  as  Death's  victim, 
when  nothing  more  is  to  be  saved  from  this 
total  shipwreck  ?  Oh,  remain  with  us  also, 
lest  the  hour  of  meeting  be  not  changed  into 
one  of  inexpressible  anguish,  if " 

Here  she  paused ;  she  had  lost  courage  to 
say  all  that  she  thought  and  feared. 

"  Mary  I"  replied  Rasinski,  in  a  tone 
fraught  with  the  vyhole  ardor  of  his  soul, 
«Mary!" 

There  he  stood  in  intense  struggle  with 
himself,  looking  at  her  mournfully.  In  that 
moment  he  felt  as  if  the  iron  barrier  which 
interposed  between  them  had  been  demol- 
ished. But  the  illusion  prevailed  but  for  a 
second.  No  sooner  was  the  momentary  mist 
of  the  golden  dream,  with  its  drapery  of 
couleur  de  rose  withdrawn,  than  the  inflexible 
again  stood  before  him  more  commanding 
and  colossal  than  ever.  He  bowed  to  its  be- 
hest, and  said  flrmly,  yet  with  aflability : 

"  No,  even  this  prayer  from  you,  must  not 
deter  me!     Farewell  I" 

He  tore  himself  suddenly  away,  and  has- 
tened into  the  street. 

Mary  tottered  like  one  stunned  by  a  blow, 
and  sank  fainting  into  the  arms  of  her  brother. 
The  keen-sighted  Bernard  deciphered  her  in- 
most heart.  Rasinski  had  by  one  single 
word  betrayed  the  secret  of  his  breast. 

The  Countess  appeared,  having  just  left 
the  chamber  of  death.  Her  step  was  slow 
and  feeble.  It  was  evident  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  she  maintained  herself  erect. 

"  My  brother  is  gone  !"  she  commenced, 
less  in  the  way  of  a  question,  than  an  in- 
ferred self-reply ;  "  he  should  at  least  have 
taken  time  to  say  adieu.  Who  can  tell 
whether  we  shall  meet  again ;  for  I  am  los- 
ing the  power  of  harboring  hope !" 

She  stood  pale,  but,  majestically  erect,  as 
if  refusing  proudly  to  bow  hier  neck  igno- 
ffliniously  to  the  heavy  strokes  of  fate  ;  a  tear, 
however,  trembled  in  her  eye.  Mary  and 
Bianca  approached  her  with  much  sympathy ; 
she  stretched  out  both  hands  to  them,  and 
drew  them  gently  near  her : 

"  Oh,  my  daughters  !  You  are  young ;  life 
has  early  laid  a  rude  hand  upon  you — but  it 
never  assailed  you  so  fearfully  as  it  has  this 
poor  girl,  Lodoiska  !  What  a  fate  is  ours  ! 
Here,  within,  a  deadly  grief,  which  no  sooth- 
ing tear  alleviates ;  all  around,  desolation, 
death,  horror,  and  dismay !  Do  you  bear  those 


murderous  cannon?  Perhaps  fro|n  these 
windows  we  may  witness  a  dreadful  catas- 
trophe 1" 

"  Oh,  never !  never !"  Mary  interrupted  her. 

"Thou  tremblest,  poor  child!  Tbinkest 
thou  thus  to  propitiate  inexorable  destiny  ?— 
or  that  we  have  reached  the  bottom  of  this 
gulf?  We  may  sink  yet  immeasurably 
deeper  !  Disgrace  will  now  be  added  to  sad- 
ness ! — soon  the  enemy  will  triumph  !  Per- 
haps I  may  behold  my  brother  in  fetters,  and 
bleeding,  dragged  past  this  house  ;  it  may  be 
the  fate  of  these  young  men,  and  ourselves 
also;  for  I  am  of  Poland,  and  unquenchable  ha- 
tred— an  indelible  branding — has  be«n  sworn 
against  everything  from  thence.  But,  sooner 
than  I  will  see  those  tender  hands" — pointing 
to  Lodoiska,  "torn  by  cruel  cords — sooner 
than  I  will  see  her  chaste  body  surrendered 
a  prey  to  the  tiger-fury — and  brutal  lust  of 
barbarian  blood-hounds,  shall  my  own  hand 
stab  her  to  the  heart !  A  Polish  mother  is 
not  weaker  than  a  Roman  father  and  she 
will  not  tremble  at  the  prospect  of  death  !" 

She  finished  speaking  under  great  excite- 
ment ;  breathing  laboriously,  she  dropped  ex- . 
hausted  into  a  seat 

Meanwhile,  the  din  of  battle  drew  nearer. 
Paul  had  hurried  away  to  ascertain  from 
which  quarter  the  attack  was  made.  He  now 
returned  breathless,  and  said: 

A  sanguinary  fight  is  going  on  before  the 
gates.  I  saw  the  count  with  Marshal  Ney, 
snatching  the  muskets  from  the  flying  soldiers 
and  hastening  towards  the  ramparts,  to  dis 
pute  the  entrance  hand  to  hand.  Inspirited  by 
this  heroic  example,  the  troops  again  collected 
and  fought,  while  the  rest  were  marching  off 
through  the  other  gates.  The  road  towards 
Memel  is  already  crowded.  A  few  hours 
more,  and  the  enemy  must  be  masters  of  the 
town  1" 

Scarcely  had  he  ceased  speaking,  when  the 
door  was  violently  pushed  open,  and  Rasin- 
ski rushed  in. 

"  Almighty  God  *. — my  brother  I"  cried  the 
countess,  springing  towards  him. 

His  forehead  was  bleeding ;  his  face  was 
blackened  by  smoke  and  powder,  but  his  eye 
flashed  as  the  lion's  when  about  to  dart  on 
his  prey, 

"  The  most  pressing  danger  is  over,"  he 
said ;  "  I  snatched  a  moment  to  bid  you  all 
farewell.  The  marshal  expects  my  return  in 
a  few  minutes.  The  Russians  will  soon  gain 
possession  of  the  town.  There  is  no  longer 
time  to  escape  by  flight.  Keep  yourselves 
concealed  therefore,  until  the  first  tumult  has 
passed.  Then  you  had  better  proceed  to 
Warsaw,  sister ;  there  you  will  again  hear 
from  me.  And  you,  my  friends !"  he  said, 
turning  to  Bernard  and  Louis,  "  I  advise  you 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TVf  ELVE  j  OR, 


to  make*your  way  into  Prussiat  It  is  to  you 
the  nearest  safe  resting-place.  Our  roads 
now  take  different  directions.  We  have 
faithfully  endured  much  t{^ther — now  fare- 
well|" 

They  all  hung'  in  Rasinski's  embrace  ;  he 
was  not  ashamed  of  the  tears  which  watered 
his  manly  face — but  he  remained  composed, 
for  such  was  his  will. 

"  This  must  come  to  an  end,"  he  said,  after 
a  solemn  pause  ;  "  I  have  no  more  time  to  be- 
stow on  all  those  dear  to  me.  To  you,  also, 
I  say  farewell ! — Bianca — ^Mary !" 

Bianca,  who  loved  him  as  she  would  a  fa- 
ther, leafied  weeping  on  his  breast ;  he  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
head  while  Wessing  her. 

Mary  timidly  stood  at  a  distance.  Rasin- 
ski  approached  her  one  stepi  "Mary,"  he 
said  to  her,  "  we  see  each  other  foe  the  last 
time !" 

Love  and  sorrow  now  assumed  their  so- 
vereignty, and  enforced  obedience  to  their 
own  impulses.  In  triumphant  manifestation 
of  their  sacred  rights,  Mary,  carried  away  by 
an  extatic  emotion,  sunk  on  the  breast  of  the 
noble  waiTior,  and  her  maiden  lips  pressed 
his. 

"  Thou  wast  mine  for  one  blissful  moment, 
Mary  I"  he  said,  disengaging  liimself ;  •'  now, 
be  again  altogetber  thyself!  Thou  wert  in 
the  right,  thou  noble,  generous  soul !  a  deep 
river  divides  us,  over  which  there  is  no  bridge 
to  pass,  but  one  of  guilt  Happy  are  we, 
that  may  not  cross  it  I" 

He  then  deposited  the  poor  girl,  dissolved 
in  tears,  in  the  arms  of  her  brother.  The 
next  moment  he  was  gone. 

Mary  hastened  to  the  window,  in  order  to 
send  yet  one  l^ok  after  him.  In  the  streets 
thronged  soldiers  and  citizens  mixed  in  wild 
commotion.  Rasinski  stepped  into  the  midst 
of  them,  and  by  his  commanding  spirit  and 
appearance,  immediately  constituted  himself 
their  leader.  Unsheathing  his  sword,  he 
marched  at  their  head  into  the  heart  of  the 
town.  In  vain  dfd  Mary  watch  to  see  him 
once  turn  his  face  back  to  the  house. 

The  raging  tide  of  battle  bore  Rasinski 
quickly  away,  while  its  impetuous  billows 
cooled  his  agitated  breast.  The  enemy  pressed 
onward,  assaultingthe  town  at  all  points.  The 
-houses  shook  with  the  thunder  of  cannon  ; 
trumpets  flung  tlteir  shrill  notes  to  the  air  in 
every  street ;  the  distressing  cries  of  women, 
the  groans  of  the  wounded,  were  heard  every 
where. 

The  unutterable  woe  which  filled  the  hearts 
of  the  ladies,  left  no  room  for  solicitude  and 
anxiety.  Lodoiska  scarcely  heard  the  tumult 
in  the  streets.  The  countess  was  prepared 
for  every  evciit ;  she  neither  hoped  nor  fear- 
ed an}'thing.    Bianca  and  Mary  clung  to  their 


brothers ;  and  these  were  absorbed  in  the 
fight. 

Suddenly  musket  shots  were  heard  close 
in  front  of  the  house,  and  there  arose  a  wild 
medley  of  cries.  Bernard  sprang  to  the 
window. 

"  The  town  must  be  surrounded  f  he  cried, 
"  these  are  Cossacks,  pouring  in !" 

A  cohort  of  these  locusts  did  actually  en- 
ter by  the  gate,  and  fell  upon  a  small  num- 
ber of  the  French,  who  were  just  about  seek- 
ing an  egress.  But,  the  latter,  though  scat- 
tered, offered  a  determined  resistance,  and 
the  space  immediately  before  the  house  thus 
became  an  arena  of  battle. 

"  You  had  better  retire  into  the  back  rooms 
towards  the  yard,"  said  Louis  to  tlie  ladies ; 
"  the  balls  might  easily  And  their  way  here  !" 

"  Then  neither  must  thou  tarry  here,"  an- 
swered Bianca, "  we  will  stay  where  thou  art" 

"  Holy  Father !  I  see  Rasinski !"  cried  Ber- 
nard, Thenextinstantawhole  volley  of  mus- 
ketry was  heard. 

Every  one,  even  Lodoiska,  hastened  to  the 
window.  "  Where  ?"  asked  the  coimtess, 
5^  where  is  my  brother  ?" 

"  There,  where  the  infantry  is  coming  on 
in  close  file.  I  saw  him  there  just  now,  in 
the  midst  of  the  smoke,  on  horseback  j  but 
now  he  is  hidden  again  in  the  cloud !" 

"  There  he  is !  there  he  is  I — now  he  dashes 
forward  I"  cried  Louis. 

"  But  how  comes  he  to  be  on  horseback  ?" 
asked  tlie  countess,  in  astonishment. 

"  Booty,  booty ! — it  is  a  Cossack's  horse !" 
said  Bernard ;  "  Marshal  Ney  is  behind  him ! 
Do  you  see,  there  I  They  are  about  cutting 
their  way  through  to  us  !" 

The  ladies  trembled  from  fright.  The 
battle  raged  fearfully.  The  grim  monster 
swayed  his  deadly  scythe  over  the  heads  of 
the  combatants;  the  thunder-cloud  of  de- 
struction rolled  close  above  most  precious 
lives.  They  wished  to  turn  away  jfrom  Ihe 
harrowing  sight,  but  were  not  able;  the  eye, 
as  if  fascinated,  hung  on  the  scene. 

Rasinski  dc^hed  right  into  the  canopy  of 
smoke,  flouishing  his  sword  over  his  head. 

"  Forward !  brave  comrades,  we  mi>st  cut 
out  a  path  for  ourselves  T  resounded  his 
powerful  voice,  sending  a  thrill  of  enthusias- 
tic courage  even  through  the  hearts  of  the 
women. 

The  troops  advanced  resolutely,  Rasinski 
at  their  head.  The  Cossacks  were  borne 
down,  and  dispersed  in  confusion.  They 
would  speedily  have  turned  to  fliglit,  had  not 
the  gate  been  blocked  up  by  the  cavalry 
which  entered  after  them.  Marshal  Ney  was 
stationed  farther  back  in  the  street,  arranging 
the  troops  rapidly  coming  up  from  be- 
hind. Rasinski  looked  sharply  around  after 
him.    The  maxahal  now  raised  liis  hat,  aaiJt 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


311 


swang  it  with  its  waving  plumes  high  over 
his  head.  This  appeared  to  be  the  precon- 
certed signal. 

Surrounded  by  the  foremost  files,  Rasin- 
ski  rode  forward  ;  the  troopers  closed  up  be- 
hind. "  Fire !"  was  his  I'oud  word  of  com- 
mand, and  the  discharge  followed.  The  win- 
dows clattered ;  the  women  uttered  piercing 
cries ;  the  street  was  thickly  veiled  in  a  cloud, 
while  the  wild  outcries  of  the  soldiery  arose 
out  of  the  black  and  sulhpurous  canopy. 

A  gust  of  wind  dispersed  the  smoke.  Ra- 
siiiski  immediately  rushed  through  the  clear- 
ed space.  His  nervous  hand  dealt  a  blow 
which  prostrated  a  Cossack  from  his  horse ; 
another  he  laid  low  by  the  discharge  of  his 
pistol.  His  proud  steed  galloped  away  over 
their  bodies,  in  venturous  leaps.  "  Forward  ! 
comrades!"  he  cried,  turning  himself .  half 
round ;  "  the  wav  is  clear !  they  fly !  Victory ! 
Victory !" 

He  threw  one  glance  at  the  friends,  and  the 
trembling  women,  and  with  flashing  eye, 
waved  a  farewell  salute  towards  the  window. 
Then  dashing  once  more  among  the  thickest 
of  the  flying  enemy,  his  men  following  him 
with  shouts,  he  vanished  amidst  tlie  deafen- 
ing uproar. 


CHAPTER  XCrV. 

Since  the  events  just  related,  two  months 
had  now  speeded  their  flight.  The  hurricane 
which  had  shaken  to  the  centre  the  founda- 
tions of  society,  was  shorn  of  its  strength! 
The  black  and  heavy  clouds  withdrew — the 
heavens  again  smiled  more  mildly — the  heart 
w^s  enabled  once  more  to  put  faith  in  a  mer- 
ciful and  beneficent  Providence ! 

Louis  and  Bernard,  with  Bianca  and  Mary, 
had  reached  Konigsberg,  and  had  at  last 
found  in  that  city  a  secure  retreat,  undis- 
turbed by  the  terrors  of  war. 

During  this  time,  their  health  and  physical 
powers,  so  severely  taxed,  had  become  re- 
cruited— spirit  and  body  both  felt  the  change. 

The  countess,  through  the  mediation  of 
Biariba,  had  obtiiined  a  passport,  and  with 
Lodoiska  gone  back  to  Warsaw. 

The  only  sorrow  which  yet  rested  upon 
the  two  brothers  and  sisters  was  that  suffer- 
ed on  account  of  Lodoiska,  and  the  interest 
and  anxiety  they  felt  for  Rasinski,  who  un- 
weariedly  suffered  himself  to  be  borne  away, 
further  and  farther,  on  the  billows  of  a  san- 
guinary war. 

What  a  happy  season  did  Louis  and  Mary 
now  pass  together,  beatified  by  the  sweetest 
sympathies,  although  interspersed  at  times 


with  the  saddest  recollections !  In  the  first 
hours  of  their  meeting  they  were  so  occu- 
pied and  surrounded  by  stormy  events,  that 
the  heart  found  no  leisure  to  devote  to  the 
quiet  enjoyment  of  contemplation.  But  now, 
in  the  long  wnter  evenings,  when  these  four 
true  and  noble  hearts  assembled  together  in  a 
comfortal)le  apaitment,  all  their  sorrows  and 
hardships  were  richly  compensated.  They 
conversed  cheerfully  about  the  past,  for  the 
rising  sun  of  the  future  already  threw  its  ro- 
seate hue  on  those  departed  days.  Yes,  the 
tJiouirhts  of  the  brother  and  sister  dwelt 
with  composure  and  resignation  on  the  tomb 
of  their  mother,  though  a  hallowed  grief 
would  penetrate  their  souls,  when  calling  to 
mind  that  loving  heart  and  gentle  hand  which 
had  so  faithfully  guided  them  through  the 
slippery  paths  of  tlieir  earlier  days. 

It  was  with  pleasure  that  Louis  observed 
the  friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between 
Bianca  and  Mary  steadily  expanding  and 
flourishing ;  and  with  still  deeper  interest  he 
notkjed  also,  that  Mary's  sisterly  affection  for 
Bernard  became  every  day  the  more  warm, 
as  his  free  and  noble  heart  opened  more 
fully  to  her  inspection.  A  grave  change  had 
taken  place  in  Bernard  himself.  His  whole 
character  became  gradually  more  sedate  and 
circumspect.  Much  as  in  the  case  of  old 
wine,  the  former  effei-vescerice  of  his  nature 
settled  down  to  a  clear  and  enduring  pla>. 
cidity.  The  stirring  conflicts  in  which  he  had 
participated,  had  already  served  to  moderate 
tlie  exuberance  of  his  unschooled  energies, 
and  instilled  sober  and  condensed  reflection 
into  his  mind  But  deeper  than  all  did  now 
the  pure  breath  of  love  penetrate  his  restless 
and  impetuous  breast;  the  swelling  flood 
of  his  fiery  imagination  was  calmed  down 
into  placid  serenity,  as  if  fearful  of  grieving 
or  scaring  away  so  sacred  an  image.  That 
gently  restraining  power  which  Bianca's  so- 
ciety had  formerly  exercised  over  him,  Mary 
possessed  in  a  yet  higher  degree.  He  con- 
quered himself  manfully,  apparently  with  the 
iiope  to  deserve  Mary's  affection  by  his  con- 
trol and  denial  of  self  He  had  read  the 
most  sacred  page  of  her  inmost  heart,  and  as 
exalted  spirits  easily  interpret  and  underifiand 
each  other,  he  could  with  fjvcility  appreciate 
the  conflicts  which  she  had  endured,  and 
comprehend  also  why  she  had  courted  tliem. 
He  knew  her  strong  feelings  of  patriotism, 
which  now  revived  with  fresh  hopes,  and  he 
knew  what  sacrifices  she  was  capable  of 
making  on  the  altar  of  her  country's  free- 
dom. He  dared,  however,  to  entertain  but 
distant  hopes  for  his  passion;  but  still  he 
possessed  the  certainty  of  her  warmest  friend- 
ship, and  would  therefore,  for  the  present, 
not  sue  her  for  anything  more.  For  this 
generous  forbearance  she  was    profoundly 


31S 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE;  OR, 


grateful  to  him,  for  she  did  not  undervalue 
Uie  effort  it  cost  him  to  achieve  it. 

The  more  conspicuous  the  deference, 
therefore,  with  which  Bernard  stood  aloof, 
the  more  strongly  Mary  must  feel  herself  at- 
tracted towards  him — the  more  imposing  her 
sense  of  obligation.  Probably  she  could  not 
have  prevailed  upon  herself  to  concede  to 
him  her  heart's  affections ;  but  when  he  si- 
lently and  rigidly  renounced  himself,  they 
imperceptibly  turned  more  decidedly  and  cor- 
dially towards  him,  and  she  every  moment 
felt  the  duty  more  binding  upon  herself,  l^y 
yielding  to  secure  the  happiness  of  one  who 
was  prepared  so  nobly  and  uncomplainingly 
to  resign  it.  The  more  love  became  her 
duty,  the  more  duty  was  changed  into  love ; 
and  thus  the  immaculate  and  most  beautiful 
flower  of  a  virtuous  attachment  unfolded  it- 
self in  the  mild  beams  of  gratitude  and  unal- 
loyed esteem.  There  was  nothing  but  the 
light  and  delicate  veil  of  maidenly  reserve  on 
her  part,  and  deferential  awe  on  his,  which 
kept  the  sweet  secret  undiscovered  by  these 
two  loving  hearts.  He  wanted  courage  to 
touch  the  blossom  which  timidly  inclined  its 
fragrant  chalice  towards  him.  Thus  their 
hearts  beat  together,  but  in  a  suspense  of 
torembling  happiness ;  the  precious  fruit  ripens 
early  and  unnoticed,  and  when  arrived  at 
Ctaturity,  the  gentlest  zephyr  of  a  favoring 
gale  causes  it  to  fall  into  the  lap. 

Every  German  heart  was  already  stirred 

Eowerfully.  The  iron  yoke  which  so  long 
ad  galled  their  necks  was  relaxed  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  free  and  full  of  hope  every  bosom 
proudly  inhaled  the  sweet  air  of  liberty. 

One  evening,  as  the  little  household  were 
sitting  together  in  quiel  sociality,  there  was 
a  knocking  at  the  door.  On  Louis'  calling 
to  the  visitor  to  come  in,  Arnheim  entered. 
Mary  blushed  and  turned  pale  successively 
at  his  appearance.  She  at  that  instant  first 
became  sensible  of  the  real  state  of  her  heart, 
by  noticing  the  disparity  of  her  feelings  to- 
wards him  and  towards  Bernard.  The  new- 
comer, being  a  stranger  to  all  in  the  company 
but  herself,  saluted  her,  and  approaching 
nearer  said : 

"  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I 
saw  you  this  afternoon,  about  dusk,  at  the 
window  of  this  house ;  but  I  soon  learned 
that  I  was  not  mistaken.  Permit  me  to  apo- 
logise for  my  intrusion  by  communicating 
some  agreeable  news,  which  I  felt  in  duty 
bound  to  impart  to  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  are  welcome  in  any  event,"  an- 
swered Mary ;  "  and  doubly  so  if  you  are  the 
bearer  of  good  news  for  our  country." 

She  then  introduced  him  formally  to  her 
brother,  to  Bianca,  and  to  Bernard. 

•'  You  will  remember,  that  already  in  War- 
saw, I  told  you  something  of  a  secret  patri- 


otic society,"  Arnheim  began ;  "  it  is  now 
time  to  speak  more  fully  upon  the  subject ;  for 
the  hour  has  come  when  it  is  to  bring  forth 
fruit.  Germany  is  about  to  rise  in  her  might 
— the  whole  nation  is  about  to  be  called  to 
arms.  Prussia  inarches  valiantly  at  the 
head.  My  own  country  is  still  fettered  by 
many  cunningly-contrived  political^ ties  ;  but 
still  there  is  hope  that  Austria  also  will  for- 
cibly burst  them  asunder.  She  now  contents 
herself  by  fanning  the  sacred  flame  in  all 
breasts,  and  strengthening  all  resolutions,  un- 
til the  time  arrives  when  she  can  step  forward 
unshackled  and  powerful.  I  have  conse- 
quently for  some  weeks  been  estranged  from 
the  service  of  the  Emperor.  I  have  entered 
that  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  The  leaders  of 
our  confederacy  were,  sometime  since,  notified 
to  hold  themselves  prepared  for  some  decided 
demonstration  on  the  King's  part.  To-day — 
only  an  hour  ago-  jie  anxiously  looked-for 
intelligence  arrivea  that  it  had  been  done. 
The  King  of  Prussia  speaks  strongly  to  his 
subjects  ;  he  Calls  upon  them  to  fight  for  their 
firesides  and  their  liberties.  A  holy  war  is 
kindling,  in  which  the  nations  will  re-pur- 
chase their  dearest  rights,  so  long  abused, 
with  their  own  blood — a  war  which  holds 
out  to  those  who  fall  the  palm  of  the  mirtyr,. 
and  to  the  victor  the  garland  of  undying  fame ! 
Thus  our  country  shall  finally  be  emancipa- 
ted from  the  chains  of  ignominy  and  suffer- 
ing. This  causes  my  bosom  to  sv«ell  with 
proud  satisfaction,  and  makes  me  forgetful  of 
the  present,  in  the  happy  anticipation  of  the 
future." 

In  uttering  the  last  sentence,  He  threw  a 
significant  glance  at  Mary,  who  well  under- 
stood its  meaning. 

"  You,"  he  continued,  turning  to  her,  "  I 
know  to  be  so  true  a  daughter  of  our  country 
that,  though  you  may  smile  at  the  conceit,  I 
interpret  it  as  a  propitious  sign  from  heaven 
to  find  you  again,  at  a  moment  when  in  my 
power  to  bear  so  cheering  a  message." 

"Please  to  accept  my  warmest  thanks," 
said  Mary,  deeply  affected — a  beam  of  glad- 
ness lighting  up  her  countenance.  "  What 
a  glorious  arch  do  your  words  spread  over 
the  bleak  and  leaden  horizon  of  our  unhappy 
country !" 

"  And  a  magnificent  sun  will  arise  in  splen- 
dor," cried  Louis,  inspired.  "  Now — now  first 
the  days  are  coming  when  I  can  breathe  happy 
and  free  !  My  heart's  affection  even  blooms 
full  and  fragrant  only  in  this  new  light !  Oh, 
Bianca !  hitherto  thou  hast  been  a  flower, 
whose  sweet  odors  carried  a  cheering  pre- 
sage of  vernal  charms  into  the  dark  prison- 
house  ! — Now,  the  first  trembling  ray  of 
morning  reaches  us  !  It  falls  upon  my  heart 
as  upon  the  pillar  of  Memnon,  making  it  vo- 
cal with  melody!    Refreshing  breezes  play 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


around  breast  and  temples ! — the  heavy  cnr- 
tain  of  dark  and  portentous  clouds  is  riven  in 
twain,  and  the  whole  rich,  vernal  landscape 
lies  before  us,  in  the  glorious  dawn  of*Liber- 
ty's  day !  Oh,  Bianca  ! — what  days  are  yet 
in  store  for  us  !" 

Bernard  had  drunk  in  Arnheim's  communi- 
cation in  a  serious,  but  deeply  wrought  mood. 
"  I  go  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  brave  pa- 
triots I"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  unalter- 
able determination,  giving  Arnheim  his  "hand. 
"  And  I  will  fight  side  by  side  with  thee  !" 
cried  Louis,  enthusiastically.  "  We  shall 
now  first  learn  by  experience  with  what  feel- 
ings a  man  hears  the  thunder  of  battle  rolling 
a^und  him.  Oh,  I  now  bless  that  year  of  en- 
durance which  we  have  passed  through  ;  for  it 
has  been  to  us  a  severe  but  instructive  school. 
I  can  now  offer  my  country  double  satisfac- 
tion for  the  wrong  which,  against  my  will,  I 
have  committed  against  her.  Hardened  and 
inured  by  the  horrid  conflicts  which  are  past, 
we  can  throw  our  influence  with  double  ef- 
fect into  the  scale  of  those  contests  which  the 
future  is  preparing  for  us.  Not  being  any 
longer  tyros  but  tried  men — steeled  to  dan- 
gers and  hardships,  we  now  know  bow  to 
wield  our  swords.  Oh,  indeed,  sister,  thou 
sayest  truly  that  a  glorious  radiance  sheds  its 
light  on  the  bleak  and  dark  night  of  our 
country !" 

While  Louis  thus  delivered  himself  of  his 
enthusiastic  ardor,  Bernard  walked  up  and 
down,  immersed  in  troubled  thoughts. 

"  I  perceive  what  must  be  done,"  he  finally 
began,  "  and  my  bosom  also  dilates  with  noble 
and  patriotic  feelings  !  But  I  cannot  call  it  joy. 
If  we  have  transgressed  by  taking  part  in  this 
year's  campaign,  and  had  it  been  a  holier  duty 
to  lay  otir  heads  on  the  block,  and  fall  as  de- 
fenceless victims  to  perady  and  craft — then  a 
retributive  Nemesis  has  now  overtaken  us ; 
and  she  bears  heavily  upon  us !" 

Mary  conjectured  what  passed  within  Ber- 
nard's breast.    But  Louis  .answered : 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee,  Bernard.  What 
kind  of  a  Nemesis  dost  thou  perceive  in  allot- 
ments, which  I  look  upon  as  the  most  gra- 
cious dispensations  of  heaven  ?" 

"  I  look  upon  them  in  the  same  light ;  but, 
does  not  a  heavy  penalty  attach  to  us  1  Thy 
lofty  enthusiasm  has  carried  thee  entirely 
away.  Must  /,  then,  tell  thee  what  otherwise 
I  would  have  heard  from  ihee,  who  was  ever 
my  Mentor  in  virtue — so  full  of  the  noblest 
sentiment  ?" 

"  No  more  !"  Louis  interrupted  him  quick- 
ly. "  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say.  The 
sacrifice  is  bitter  and  difficult — it  is  the  ring 
of  Polycrates  which  we  must  throw  into  the 


Eca: 


"  I  understand  you  both,"  said  Mary,  great- 
ly moved ; "  but  it  must  be  ! — it  must,  how- 


ever bitter;  and  Rasinski  will  be  the  first  to 
sanction  your  resolution.  Of  a  noble  and  ex- 
alted spirit  himself,  his  sympathies  are  enlist- 
ed for  everything  that  is  great,  true,  or  honor- 
able ;  but  you  must  confront  him  frankly  and 
openly.  Let  him  learn  it  from  no  one  but 
yourselves,  that  the  day  may  come  when  you 
meet  each  other  in  hostile  array." 

"  Thus  let  it  be,"  Bernard  replied  hastily ; 
"  we  will  write  to  Rasinski  as  soon  as  we 
have  determined  what  to  do." 

"  Yes  ;  determined  on  a  matter  which  may 
be  dontf  very  speedily,"  remarked  Arnheim ; 
"  the  step   which   would  introduce  you  to 
the  ranks  of  the  defenders  of  the  liberties  of 
Germany,  may  be  made  this  very  moment." 
Let  us  go,  then !"  said  Bernard,  resolutely, 
"  for  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  delay." 
They  departed  together. 
The  public  papers  of  the  next  morning 
contained  the  call  of  the  King  addressed  to 
his  people — the  proclamation  of  the  third  of 
February,  eighteen  hundred  and  thirteen.   A 
glow  of  enthusiasm  pervaded  every  heart. 
The  Teutonic  patriots  rushed  with  loud  cries 
to  the  waving   banner  of  reviving   liberty. 
Tears  of  gladness  glistened  in  the  eyes  of  the 
German  maidens;  their  bosoms  heaved  ex- 
ultingly  in  proud  conscious  patriotism.     The 
mother  gladly  saw  her  son — the  sister  her 
brother — the  affianced  maiden  her  lover,  mak- 
ing ready  to  march.     Every  tear  of  anxious 
misgiving  was  merged  in  the  majestically 
swelling  tide  of  excited  hopes.     Oh,  happy 
time ! — Oh,  thou  sun  of  liberty  !  with  thy  gol- 
den beams,  which  then  so  fairly  promised  to 
spread  an  ever  smiling  sky  of  spring  and 
beauty  over  the  broad  plains  of  Germany ! 
Bernard  and  Louis  enrolled  themselves  in 
the  army.    The  very  next  mommg  saw  them 
again  in  arms.    Still  an  oppressive  feeling 
burdened  their  breasts;   too  keen   was  the 
shaft  felt  which  forced  them  into  the  position 
of  enemies  towards  their  most  dear  and  wor- 
thy friend,  the  preserver  and  protector  of  their 
lives — to  aim  their  weapons  at  his  honorable 
person  !     Nothing  would  serve  to  abate  this 
distressing  feeling,  until  they  had  made  a 
clean  breast  of  it  to  their  former  brother  in 
arms.     Consequently,  they  embraced  the  first 
moments  of  leisure  they  could  find  as  soon 
as  they  had  taken  the  decisive  step,  in  order 
to  inform  him  of  it  themselves.     Louis  thus 
addressed  him : 


"  My  Deaeest  Friend  : — I  address  these 
words  to  your  great  and  noble  heart.  The 
current  of  events  which  brought  me  across 
your  path,  and  deposited  the  security  of  my 
existence  under  your  guardianship,  has  now 
'again  driven  us  asunder.  But  it  not  only 
separates  us ;  it  even  bears  me  on  against 
you  in  the  guise  of  an  enemy.    I  know  that 


au 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVE ;  OR, 


yoa  understand  me,  even  without  offering  an 
explanation.  The  nations  of  Europe, are 
about  entering  upon  a  fearful  contest ;  the  in- 
dividual cannot  be  absolved  from  defending 
the  sacred  interests  of  his  country ;  yet  his 
heart  may  bleed  under  the  cruel  necessity 
which  duty  imposes.  You  received  on  board 
the  shipwrecked  mariner,  when  helplessly 
tossed  on  the  billow — saved  him,  and  set  him 
securely  on  bis  native  shore.  And  shall  he 
now,  in  following  the  proudly-sproad  canvass 
of  his  country's  fleet,  hurl  destruction  where 
he  once  found  safety  1  My  friend,  you  who 
know  my  heart,  who  have  a  thousand  proofs 
of  my  respect,  ask  yourself  the  question, 
whether  I  can  be  ungrateful  ?  I  know,  and  I 
rely  with  a  hallowed  and  unshaken  faith  upon 
the  conviction,  that  you  will  forgive  me,  that 
even  this  eruption  of  an  untowvd  fate  will 
not  destroy  our  friendship.  We  may  ad- 
vance in  arms  against  each  other,  but  among 
the  entire  multitude  of  my  fellow-soldiers, 
my  heart  will  tremble  for  the  safety  of  no 
one's   life  more   than  that  of  him    whom 

Jaramount  obligations  compels  me  to  oppose. 
lay  the  prayers  of  our  mutual  friends  be  our 
shield  and  safeguard ;  when  the  thunder  of 
battle  roars,  Bianca  and  Mary  will  raise  their 
hands  to  heaven  in  fervent  supplication  that  we 
may  be  spared  the  extreme  of  calamities.  A 
mild  and  brilliant  star  is  visible  to  me  through 
the  dark  cloud  of  the  reeking  battle-field — the 
star  of  Peace.  These  storms  also  will  pass 
by.  The  roaring  volcano  which  agitates  the 
European  continent  to  its  very  foundations, 
must  at  last  exhaust  itself,  and  the  blood- 
stained torrents  must  be  stayed — ^the  rushing 
waters  which  now  rage  in  deadly  fury  against 
each  other,  must  turn  back  to  their  old  quiet 
channels.  Then,  sir,  when  the  flowery  banks 
of  our  earth  shall  again  be  reflected  in  the 
mirror  of  quiet  waters — when  the  fresh  and 
purified  sky  shall  again  smile  down  upon  us 
— when  the  God  of  war,  weary  and  surfeited 
with  slaughter,  shall  seek  the  most  distant 
and  sequestered  caverns  to  find  repose — when 
Themis  shall  sheathe  her  sword,  and  with  an 
equal  hand  measure  out  the  boundariee  of 
the  nations — then,  Rasinski,  the  day  will 
have  arrived  which  shall  award  us  a  recom- 
pense for  the  most  self-denying  sacrifices ! 
We  shall  again  embrace  with  our  former 
love  and  fidelity  on  the  charred  ruins  of  the 
battle-ground  ;  and  the  surrounding  destruc- 
tion shall  no  longer  aflright  us ;  for  the  new 
tendrils  of  spring  are  already  shooting  forth, 
appearing  in  magnified  beauty  where  the 
volcano  has  showered  down  its  most  bhghting 
Bcoriee.  Let  our  gaze  be  directed  toward 
this  distant  goal. — Distant !  What  do  I  say  ? 
He  who  by  his  creative  fiat  in  an  instant 
called  forth  the  heavens — luminaries  out  of 
chaotic  darkness — before  whom  a  thousand 


years  are  one  day«— and  who  seeth  the  end 
from  the  beginning-r-He,  by  His  Omnipotent 
arm,  can  knit  us  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Let  us  then  put  our  trust  in  Him,  for  His  mer- 
cy is  infinitely  great  as  His  power ! 

"  Lotns  Ro«EK."     j 

Bernard  wrote  as  follows : 

"  Rasinski  : — Could  I  sec  you,  eye  to  eye, 
and  speak  face  to  face,  kind  looks  and  lan- 
guage would  disarm  my  present  words  of 
their  poison.  But  we  are  both  doomed  to  taste 
it,  however  much  ^t  may  tear  our  vitals.  On 
me  it  is  that  Fate  is  pouring  out  its  vengeance. 
You  know,  sir,  that  for  my  friend's  sake, 
I  resigned  my  country — drew  the  sword,  and 
inflicted  wounds  on  the  bosom  which  had 
nurtured  me  !  Now  the  ball  rolls  backward; 
a  malicious  Nemesis  arms  mc  against  the 
friend,  and  I  am  transformed  into  his  enemy ! 
What  boots  it  that  my  silly  heart  rebels  against 
it,  and  is  ready  to  break — rises  in  savage  op- 

Etsition,  and  threatens  to  leap  out  of  my  body  ? 
own,  unruly  member,  down  !  I  have  been, 
and  am  now,  in  the  right.  Unabashed,  will  I 
brave  it  out,  and  like  a  Spartan  smile  even  on 
the  rack  on  which  fate  thinks  to  wring  from 
me  a  cowardly  confession  !  With  thee,  Ra- 
sinski, I  will  deal  truly  and  above  board.  It 
is  my  sacred ,  duty  to  press  in  upon  thee — 
sword  in  hand,  and  to  pierce  the  bosom 
which  has  so  faithfully  protected  me,  and 
with  which  my  own  heart  has  so  often  beat 
in  ,  consonance !  Do  thou  to  me  likewise  ! 
Oh,  Rasinski!  that  wilK  be  a  delightful 
day,  when  we  shall  find  each  other  as  by 
the  Mojaisk,  amidst  tempests  and  thunder- 
clouds, and  like  the  two  brothers  before  the 
walls  of  Thebes  ! — rush  on,  so  tha%  pierced 
to  the  heart,  we  sink  down  to  the  ground 
together !  I  now  swear  to  thee,  that  I  will 
not  spare  thee  ;  for  I  do  not  know-that  I  could 
commit  a  blacker  treason  against  mv  coun- 
try !  Do  thou  to  me  the  same  !  But  when  we 
both  lie  prostrate,  side  by  side,  with  my  dying 
breath  I  will  call:  'Rasinski!'  and  thou 
wilt  say:  'Bernard!'  The  national  hatred 
will  ebb  away  with  our  heart's-blood ;  and 
the  colder  our  bosoms  become,  the  more  in- 
tense will  be  their  glow  of  undying  affection ! 
Our  lacerated  hearts  will  cease  to  beat  in  our 
embrace  !  Oh,  it  will  be  a  pattern  of  a  death, 
and   they  will   mourn  our  loss — Bianca! — 

Mary  ! The  cry  is  "  forward !"     All  the 

rivers,  however  wild  their  course,  must 
finally  reach  the  sea ;  they  are  then  at  rest ; 
their  billows  are  no  longer  urged  impetuously 

onward.    Till  then,  fare  thee  well ! ^ 

"  Beemard." 

Mary  and  Bianca  requested  to  see  the 
letters. 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA. 


SIS 


"  As  yoa  please,  my  dear  friends  !"  Loots 
"  replied ;  but  still,  I  think  it  will  be  better 
that  you  do  not." 

"  No !"  cried  Bernard,  "  it  is  better  for  you 
to  read  them.  You  know  what  is  going  on, 
why  should  you  not  then  also  know  how  1" 

Saying  this,  he  handed  them  the  papers, 
and  they  read  them  together,  silently,  but 
amidst  a  profusion  of  tears.  Bernard,  in  great 
commotion,  kept  walking  up  and  down  io  the 
meantime.  Finally,  h6  stopped,  fronting  Louis, 
and  said :  . 

"  Oh,  it  goes  through  my  very  soul !" — And 
the  two  friends  sank  on  each  other's  .breasts. 
,  Mary  and  Bianca  each  wrote  a  cordial  and 
loving  greeting  under  the  lines  of  their 
brothers ;  and  then  the  letters  were  des- 
patched by  the  post. 

Over  a  week  elapsed  before  an  answer 
arrived.  This  interval  was,  however,  busily 
and  restlessly  employed  iii  making  prepara- 
tions for  the  opening  campaign.  Rasinski's 
answer  came  at  last.  It  was  received  by 
Bernard.  He  did  not  open  it,  but  laid  it 
aside  until  Louis  came  home. 

When  they  were  all  together,  he  handed 
the  missive  to  Louis,  saying : 

"  Read  it  to  us  !" 

Louis  took  the  letter — broke  the  seal — 
threw  a  hasty  glance  over  it,  and  then  with  a 
sad  and  trennilous  voice,  proceeded  to  read  as 
follows : 

"  Mt  Friends — I  have  received  your  let- 
ters— I  expected  them.  The  course  you  have 
taken  is  nothing  but  what  an  indispensable 
duty  demands.  If  my  friendship  could  be  in- 
creased, this  step  of  yours  would  effect  it. 
The  altar  of  a  man's  country  is  the  most  sa- 
•cred  to  which  he  can  bring  his  offering.  The 
moment  he  is  bom  he  takes  a  mute  but  in- 
violable oath  of  fidelity  to  her.  Keep  that 
oath ;— I  also  will  keep  mine  ;  for  I  have  so- 
lemnly sworn  it,  even  when  a  boy,  like  Han- 
nibal, tl»ugh  there  was  no  Hamilcar  to 
lead  me  to  the  sacrificial  stone.  I  always 
entertained  a  deep  veneration  for  the  charac- 
ter of  Brutus,  who  pronounced  sentence  of 
death  upon  his  own  sons ;  because  they 
betrayed  their  fatherland.  I  should  feel 
bound  to  award  the  same  judgment  upon  you, 
if  you  committed  the  crime  of  which  the  sons 
of  Brutus  were  guilty.  No  new  sorrow  can 
now  affect  my  soul.  I  am  accustomed  to  see 
the  plants  which  my  heart  desired  to  rear  and 
nurture  troddewdown  by  the  iron  heel  of  fate. 
I  have  made  a  sacrifice  of  all  the  light-hearted 
happiness  of  youth,  and  of  the  blessings  of 
love,  to  the  stem  god  of  battles ;  and  even  the 
ties  of  friendship  he  now  endeavors  to  dis- 
sever, but  that  he  cannot  accomplish.  Yes, 
my  friends,  I  have  become  hardened  in  sor- 


row's severest  school,  and  am  invulnerable  to 
her  arrows.  An  impervious  coat  of  mail  en- 
closes my  breast.  The  heaviest  blows  of  fate 
make  no  other  impression  than  moving  it  with 
slight  agitation.  We  must  fight  against  each 
other — but  still  we  may  continue  to  esteem. 
The  blood-stained  sword  of  battle  even  can- 
not sunder  the  silken  cords  which  unite  our 
hearts.  If  we  are  not  permitted,  like  the  he- 
roes of  Homer,  to  yield  respect  to  the  hal- 
lowed rights  of  hospitality  even  iu  open  en- 
counter, we  may,  in  a  nobler  spirit,  lovingly 
press  the  hand  by  which  we  fall,  to  our  hearts. 
But  our  God  of  mercy,  into  whose  hands  we 
confide  our  lives,  will  avert  from  us  this  ex- 
treme of  misfortune.  Friends,  brothers  !< — a 
wise  and  merciful  Being  has  tied  a  bandage 
over  the  eyes  of  man,  that  he  should  not  see 
the  future ;  it  often  is  well  for  him  also,  that 
the  present  is  shrouded  in  mysteiy.  Let  us 
ask  for  this  blessing  as  a  boon,  and  not  cast 
it  presumptuously  from  us.  While  the  con- 
test shall  last  which  brings  us  in  hostile  ar- 
ray against^  one  another,  let  us  guard  our 
friendship  within  our  silent  bosoms.  We 
must  not  make  inquiries  about  one  another, 
or  know  each  other's  actions  or  circum- 
stances. For  man  must  not  vauntingly  rely 
upon  his  own  strength.  If  I  should  possess 
the  knowledge  where  you  stood  arrayed 
against  me  as  antagonists,  the  sword  might* 
perhaps,  fall  from  my  grasp,  and  1  should  be 
rendered  incapable  of  redeeming  my  sacred 
oath.  Let,  then,  this  controversy  of  the  nations, 
which  rises  as  an  iron  wall  between  them, 
dissolve  all  those  bonds  of  affection  and  kindly 
sympathies  which  formerly  have  been  en- 
twined between  ourselves  and  ours.  Perhaps 
the  day  of  peace  for  which  thou  hopest,  Louis, 
will  dawn  upon  us,  and  then  we  will  find  each 
other  again.  Should  fate  order  it  otherwise, 
so  let  it  be.  Soon  enough  we  shall  know  it. 
Farewell,  then,  my  friends ! — and  you,  beau- 
tiful images,  to  whom  my  soul  looks  back 
with  sweet  regret — Bianca,  Mary !  Fare- 
well, Mary  ! — may'st  thou  be  happy !  Thoo 
canst ;  for  youth  still  blooms  upon  thy  cheek : 
and  spring,  which  pushes  the  newly-scattered 
seed  into  a  ripening  harvest,  is  still  present 
with  thee.  Be  happy,  and  make  others  happy  ! 
It  is  enough.    We  part,  perhaps,  for  a  long 

time but  my  hand  is  trying  to  touch  the 

curtain  which  conceals  the  sacred  features 
of  futurity.  Time  alone  can  raise  it.  Fare- 
well, even  unto  death !  "  Rasinski." 

The  last  bitter  conflict  of  the  heart  was 
thus  over.  Now  remained  the  more  palpable 
one — that  of  the  sword. 

The^  bells  gave  out  their  solemn  peals  on 
the  following  morning  from  the  towers  and 
steeples  of  the  city.    The  varied  troops  of 


316 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDREP  ANP  TWELVE ;  OR, 


warriors  assembled  in  the  market-place; — | 
thoasands  of  citizens  flocked  thither  also, 
once  more  to  bid  adieu  to  their  departing  de- 
fenders. / 

Bernard  and  Louis  were  accoutred  and 
armed;  their  steeds  were  at  the  door,  impa- 
tiently pawing  the  ground.  Bianca  and  Mary 
were  clinging  to  their  brothers,  bathed  in 
anxious  tears,  but  yet  raised  above  themselves 
by  the  solemnity  of  the  moment. 

"Farewell,  sister!"  Bernard  at  last  said, 
breaking  the  sad  silence.  "  Farewell ! — and 
thou  Mary  ! — and  thou  !" 

She  wished  to  reach  him  her  hand,  but  he 
drew  her  nearer  to  him,  and  she  sank  weeping 
on  his  breast,  overcome  by  his  noble  affection. 
Bernard  imprinted  a  gentle  kiss  upon  her 
brow,  and  then  said  with  firmness : 

"  No,  thou  sweet  one  ! — I  do  not  demand 
the  decisive  word  from  thee  now — that  word 
at  which  the  blossoms  of  the  happiness  of 
my  existence  must  either  open  with  delightful 
fragrance,  or  else  wither  and  droop.  These 
stormy  feelings  of  the  moment  must  not  ex- 
tort it  from  thee  1  Thou  must  first  be  fully 
convinced  whether  thy  deep  wounds  can  heal. 
But  the  day  of  return  will  come  apace  ; — this 
brilliant  sun,  which  illumines  the  cupola  yon- 
der, promises  it  Then  will  I  come  to  thee, 
Mary,  and  will  ask  of  thee :  '  Will  thy  noble 
heart  devote  itself  to  one  who  is  faitliful  ?' — 
but  not  now !" 

With  these  words  he  tore  himself  away, 
and  with  Louis  hastened  out  of  the  house. 
Mary  fell  on  Bianca's  bosom,  faint  and  weep- 
ing. 

They  now  heard  the  sound  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  galloping  off.  The  troops  were  put  in 
motion.  Louis,  Bernard,  and  Amheim  were 
among  the  foremost.  They  were  followed  by 
loud  ringing  of  bells,  waving  of  handkerchiefs, 
and  vociferous  shouts  of  encouragement. 
The  swelling  tide  of  joy  and  enthusiasm  rose 
to  its  highest  pitch,  and  on  its  waves  carried 
the  heart  proudly  away  over  the  deepest 
forebodings  of  grief  and  danger.  For  the  time 
was  accomplished,  the  harvest  was  ripe,  and 
the  reapers  went  forth  with  bright  sickles 
to  the  field ! 


CONCLUSION. 

The  promise  was  victory — and  victory  was 
the  fulfilment !  The  thunders  of  the  last  on- 
set for  Liberty  on  the  borders  of  France  had 
rolled  away ;  the  sacred  banners  waved  the 
second  time  from  the  towers  and  battlements 
of  Paris ! 

The  tree  of  Germany's  freedom  had  struck 
its  roots  deep  in  the  midst  of  Russia's  snowy 
deserts,  and  under  the  leaden  sky  of  her 
rough  winter's  nights,  proudly  it  grew  up  in 
the  storm  of  those  heroic  days.  Now,  the 
vivifying  sun  of  peace  was  to  unfold  its  budss 
and  blossoms,  and  develop  its  gladsome  efful- 
gence !  Hearts  still  vibrated  in  anxious  re- 
collection of  the  yet  sullen  echoes  and  rever- 
berations of  the  distant  departing  thunder; 
but  the  vault  of  heaven  cleared  up,  and  every 
heart  drew  down  sweet,  promising  hopes ! 

The  very  grief  for  the  many  thousands 
who  had  fallen  sacrifices  in  the  purchase  of 
this  grand  jubilee  was  changed  into  a  sweet 
though  sad  source  of  happiness;  for  no 
blood  but  that  of  redemption  had  flowed ! 
****** 

In  pursuance  of  Louis'  expressed  wish, 
Mary  and  Bianca  had  sought  a  quiet  retreat 
on  the  peaceful  farm  neaj  Dresden,  where 
lived  his  maternal  aunt — and  where  they^were 
surrounded  with  the  affectionate  and  loving 
playmates  and  companions  of  their  youth. 
Here  Bernard  arid  Louis  rejoined  them ;  and 
here  they  consummated  their  happiness  by 
entering  into  mutual  and  indissoluble  bonds. 
Bernard's  noble  constancy  and  faithfulness 
had  made  Mary's  heart  all  his  own ;  the 
flower  of  her  affection,  which  had  so  long 
been  dimmed  by  sorrowing  tears,  here  un- 
folded its  chalice  in  freshness  and  bloom. 

One  cloud  of  trouble  yet  hung  upon  the 
brow  of  the  happy  ones  dwelling  here  to- 
gether. Peace  had  come;  but  as  yet  they 
had  learned  nothing  touching  that  noble- 
minded  friend,  who,  true  td  his  purnose,  had 
renounced  them.  A  letter  which  Louis  some 
weeks  previously  had  dispatched  to  the  count- 
ess at  Warsaw  remained  unanswered.  Were 
they  to  mourn  that  excellent  man  as  among 
the  dead  ?  Had  he,  like  the  honest  Amheim, 
the  poetical  youth  Bemo,  fallen  among  the 
victims  which  this  sanguinary  warfare  exact- 
ed? These  new  subjects  of  grievous  con- 
jecture occupied  these  otherwise  so  happy 
hearts. 

One  evening,  late  in  Aug^ist,  as  the  twi- 
light had  already  begun  to  throw  its  ob- 
scuring veil  over  the  horizon  of  the  setting 
sun,  Bernard,  Louis,  Bianca  and  Mary  were 
sitting  together  before  the  pavilion  m  the 
garden.  From  the  shrubbery  on  the  hill 
where  they  sat,  they  observed  a  travelling- 


NAPOLEON'S  INVASION  OF  RUSSIA- 


317 


carriage  coming  towards  the  house  on  the 
road  running  close  by  the  garden-wall.  The 
carriage  stopped  at  the  garden-gate ;  it  open- 
ed, and  a  tall,  majestic  female  figure,  dressed 
in  mourning,  entered,  and  came  toward  them. 

"  I  should  know  this  Juno !"  said  Bernard. 

"  It  is  the  countess !"  exclaimed  Mary,  who 
had  known  her  the  longest  and  most  inti- 
mately, running  to  meet  her  in  apprehensive 
surprise. 

"  It  is,  indeed !"  said  the  new-comer,  stop- 
puig  and  throwing  back  her  veil. 

She  then  opened  her  arms  to  receive  Mary, 
whom  she  pressed  passionately  to  her  heart, 
and  imprinted  glowing  kisses  on  her  lips. 
Louis,  Bernard  and  Bianca  also  drew  near ; 
all  received  a  silent,  sorrowful,  but  affection- 
ate salute  from  the  lady. 

She  looked  very  pale.  Grief  had  deeply 
furrowed  her  cheeks.  She  shed  no  tears; 
but  the  fire  of  her  eye  seemed  to  be  dim- 
med. 

"  I  had  a  desire  to  see  you  once  more,"  she 
said,  after  a  long  and  painful  struggle — giving 
a  hand  each  to  Bernard  and  Louis. 

An  enquiry  after  Rasinski  lingered  on 
every  tongue,  yet  no  one  dared  to  give  it  ut- 
terance. 

"And  you  come  alone,  entirely  alone?" 
Bianca  at  last  began,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 
"  Oh,  leave  us  no  longer  in  such  torturing 
uncertiiinty  about  the  fate  of  persons  so  dear 
to  us !" 

The  countess  drew  a  profound  sigh,  and 
looked  up  to  heaven. 

"  I  come  alone  ! — entirely  alone !  let  that  be 
my  answer !"  she  replied,  shrinking  back. 

"  And  Lodoiska  ?"  Mary  asked,  with  quiv- 
ering lips. 

"  Dost  thou  think  that  she  could  survive 
her  affliction  ?"  Her  lacerated  heart  rests  in 
peace,  now  a  year.     She  is  happy  f 

*'  And  Rasinski !"  cried  Bernard,  no  longer 
able  to  contain  himself. 

A  severe  struggle  was  seen  in  the  count- 
ess' features.    • 

"  He  also  is  at  rest !"  she  at  length  said,  in 
measured  accents.  "He  was  last  seen  at 
Leipsic  by  the  side  of  Prince  Poniatowski. 
Farther  than  i\yis,  I  know  nothing  concerning 
hun." 

A  presentiment  of  something  like  this  had 
long  occupied  their  hearts ;  but  the  confirma- 
tion of  the  reality  pierced  them  with  agony. 
Mary  sank  shuddering  on  Bernard's  bosom ; 
hp  "lasped  her  firmly,  his  head  inclined  upon 
hers,  and  his  tears  besprinkled  her  brow. 
Louis  stood  transfixed  by  the  keenest  emo- 
tions— ^his  tear-dimmed  eyes  fixed  on  the 
grpund.  Bianca  covered  her  weeping  coun- 
tenance, and  reclined  her  cheek,  faint  and 
sick,  on  the  ahouider  of  her  husband. 


"  I  weep  no  longer  for  him,"  said  the 
countess,  her  voice  trembling,  however,  as  if 
greatly  moved  :  "  nor  have  I  wept  much. 
Happy  is  he  that  his  eyes  do  not  behold  this 
day  !  His  noble  heart  could  not  endure  our 
degradation  !.    Surely  he  is  far  better  off!" 

Mary  stepped  trembling  up  to  her,  and  fell 
weeping  on  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  my  protectress  1"  she  sobbed,  almost 
smothered  by  her  tears. 

"  Daughter  ! — my  daughter  !"  cried  the 
countess,  a  torrent  of  scalding  tears  breaking 
forth.  "  A  daughter  at  my  bosom  !  Oh ! 
now  I  can  weep  again !" 

Bianca  also  approached,  and  placed  her 
arm  around  the  neck  of  the  majestic  woman. 
"  Take  your  rest  here  among  us,"  she  en- 
treated .soothingly ;  "  we  will  be  your  daugh- 
ters !" 

The  countess  regarded  her  for  a  moment 
with  an  enquiring  look  ;  a  violent  struggle 
agitated  her  bosom  ;  the  proposal  seemed  to 
draw  her  with  a  gentle  force  back  into  life, 
once  more  within  the  circle  of  home.  But 
suddenly  she  rose,  proud  and  erect,  withdrew 
from  the  embrace  of  the  weeping  women, 
shook  her  head,  and  said,  "  No,  no,  it  cannot 
be !" 

Her  irrevocable  purpose  was  so  distinctly 
expressed  in  voice  and  attitude,  that  no  one 
ventured  to  repeat  the  request.  During  this 
episode,  Nadine,  the  fair-haired  daughter  of 
Alisette,  had  come  skipping  out  from  among 
the  bushes,  and  stood  lost  in  astonishment 
before  the  stranger,  looking  upon  her  with 
her  full,  sparkling  eyes. 

TJie  countess  was  strangely  moved  at  the 
sight  of  the  child,  for  she  recognised  her  im- 
mediately. "  Dost  thou  know  me  yet,  Na- 
dine ?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audi- 
ble. 

"  Instead  of  answering,  the  little  girl  still 
kept  looking  at  her,  and  then  confidingly  hid 
her  curly  head  in  her  lap. 

The  countess  pushed  her  gently  away,  and 
turned  round  to  go. 

"  Stay  with  us,  beautiful  lady  !"  Nadine 
cried  affectionately  after i)er,  as  she  proceed- 
ed towards  the  garden-gate.  She  turned 
quickly  round,  lifted  up  the  child  in  her 
arms,  kissed  it,  pressed  it  to  her  heart,  and 
asked  with  much  feeling:  "  Wilt  thou  go 
with  me  ?  The  child  would  be  a  sweet  comfort 
in  my  secluded  solitude,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Bianca,  and  looking  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  I  can  refuse  you  nothing — nothing  that 
you  may  ask,"  replied  Bianca,  however  deep- 
ly a  separation  from  the  endearing  little 
creature  pained  her  own  heart. 

"  No,  not  that  even,"  said  the  countess, 
mildly,  after  a  few  moments'  inward  conflict, 
setting  down  the  child  again  on  the  green 


m 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWELVP 


sward.  "  Why  shonid  I  throw  the  black  pall 
of  grief  over  her  joyous  youth  ?  Why  should 
she  walk  only  beneath  weeping  willows,  in- 
terspersed with  mourning  urns  and  death's 
heads  7  No,  I  will  not  burden  the  days  that 
I  may  yet  have  to  live — and  I  trust  to  the  Al- 
mighty that  they  will  be  but  very  few.  I  will 
not  aggravate  them  with  such  a  reproach  on 
my  soul.  Remain  thou  among  the  happy, 
sweet  creature !" 

She  again  kissed  the  child,  and  released 
it  from  her  embrace. 

"  I  came  only  for  the  purpose  of  bidding 
you  farewell,"  the  countess  finally  resumed. 
"I  trembled  in  view  of  this  hour,  but  it 
would  have  been  wrong  to  have  avoided  it.  I 
am  going  to  America !    It  may  become  a 


new  father-land  to  me,  for  it  is  the  only  conn- 
try  on  the  face  of  the  earth  wherb  a  free 
heart  may  draw  Freedom's  breath.  My  home, 
my  native  soil,,  is  a  cemetery,  a  prison-house, 
a  proscribed  place  of  executions.  Let  the 
wide  ocean  roll  between  us  !  But  we  will 
not  enhance  the  pain  of  leave-taking ;  boldly, 
resolutely,  let  us  sunder  the  last  tie  which  re- 
tains me'  Farewell,  dearest  friends — follow 
me  nol !  Only  after  I  am  dead  shall  yon 
hear  of  me  once  more  l" 

She  let  fall  her  veil,  and  departed  with  a 
proud  and  rapid  step,  waving  her  hand  that 
no  one  should  accompany  her.  But  the  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  of  those  who  were  left  standing 
on  that  hill  followed  the  lofty  figure  until  it 
became  lost  in  the  shadows  of  night. 


TRK     EllD. 


I 


NEW    SEA   TALE    BY    COOPER. 


THE  CRATER; 


A  TALE  OF  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN. 

BYJ.     FENNIMORECOOPER. 

AITTHOR    OF   THK   "  DEEESLATER,"    "LAST   OF     THE    MOHICANS,''    "  PILOT  "    "  WING 

AND   WING,".  ETC.,   ETC. 

Two  Tolumes— Price,  SO  Cents. 

From  the  political  complexion  of  Mr.  Cooper's  more  recent-  novels,  they  have  been  shyly 
dealt  with  of  late,  and  the  "  Crater"  has  been  subjected  to  a  very  rigid  examination  by  the 
Critics.  The  verdict  of  the  American  Press,  we  are  happy  as  Publishers  to  say,  rank»  this 
production  as  altogether  free  from  disquisitional  matter,  and  among  the  happiest  the  author  of 
the  "  Leather-Stocking  Tales"  ever  penned.  Free  from  his  few  characteristic  faults,  the  book 
is  replete  with  his  characteristic  beauties ;  a  more  fascinating  narrative  has  not  been  written 
since  the  times  of  Defoe. 

The  tale  is  simple.  Two  seamen  alone  surviving  from  the  crew  of  a  vessel,  wh  ioh  gets 
land-locked  and  cast  away  among  an  intricate  group  of  volcanic  isles  in  the  Pacific,  escape  to 
a  desert  reef  of  lava  to  which  is  an  extinct  eraser — ^treeftss,  herbless,  utterly  barren. 

On  this,  the  ship  being  almost  miraculously  saved  with  all  her  cargo,  by  unwearied  ener- 
gy, the  two  Crusoes  manufacture  a  soil  of  sea-weed,  guano  and  the  like ;  raise  vegetables,  trees, 
and  grass,  and  with  the  stock  saved  from  the  ship  prosper  incredibly. 

At  length  they  build  a  pinnace,  which  is  swept  oflf  the  stocks  w^ith  one,  the  inferior  man,  on 
board,  by  a  deluge  and  tornado,  and  the  hero  is  left  alone.  During  his  solitude  a  terrible  vol- 
canic eruption  occurs.  The  reef  and  crater  are  upheaved  high  above  the  ocean,  new  islzinds 
appeared,  and  one  huge  active  volcano.  • 

Having  constructed  another  boat,  our  hero  next  proceeds  to  cruise  about  his  isle,  and  disco- 
vers a  volcanic  peak  of  more  ancient  origin,  covered  with  groves,  abounding  in  tropical  firuits, 
and  full  of  birds  of  exquisite  plumage. 

Ere  long  a  vessel  heaves  in  sight,  which  proves  to  be  the  missing  man,  returning  from  Ame- 
rica, whither  he  succeeded  in  arriving  after  his  perilous  launch,  bringing  with  him  his  own 
wife  and  his  friend's  wife,  other  friends,  stock,  cattle,  and  all  thifigs  necessary  for  a  new  colony. 

Henceforth  all  works  on  prosperously ;  the  colony  is  increased  by  subsequent  arrivih,  till  it 
becomes  large,  rich,  and  enterp  jing — its  advancement  only  arrested  by  an  occasional  visit 
from  savages,  and  one  attack  fro  :n  pirates,  all  of  whom  are  successfully  repulsed  by  the  origi- 
nal discoverer,  now  governor  of  the  group. 

So  long  as  there  is  but  one  clergyman  and  no  lawyers  or  editors  on  the  island,  all  goes  on 
well,  and  Vulcan's  Peak  is  a  perfect  paradise.  But  these  pests  of  society  creep  in  like 
Satan  into  Eden — society  is  overturned— the  governor  deposed — and  a  rank  scene  of  anarchy 
ensues. 

In  disgust,  the  governor  and  his  family  return  to  the  United  States;  but  sailing  back  shortly 
afterward  to  visit  the  colony,  they  find  that  a  fresh  convulsion  of  nature  has  swallowed  up 
what  was  upheaved  by  a  similar  convulsion,  and  that  of  the  whole  group  but  a  single  rock 
remains,  the  monument  of  the  submerged  colony. 

Such  is  the  framework  of  a  production  which  shows  there  is  still  '•  fire  in  the  flint" — thai  a 
stock  of  excellence  equal  to  the  pristine  ability  still  remains  locked  up  in  the  veteran  writer's 
brain. 

^' .-.     STRINGER  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

222  Broadway,  New- York. 


GEORGE: 

THE 

PMNTM  01^  TIB  lO  OF  FRINCB. 

AUTHOR  OF  «  THE  COUNT  OF  MONTE  CRISTO,"  "GENEVIEVE,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


Price,   SO  Cents.  | 

Since  the  time  of  Scott,  the  department  of  historical  novel  writing  nas 
been  an  important  part  of  the  literature  of  the  world.  All  that  the  gene- 
rality of  the  world  know  about  certain  characters,  who  have  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  its  history,  is  derived  from  them.  They  give  us  our  ideas 
about  the  habits  of  the  people  and  the  events  of  the  times.  The  James  I. 
and  Louis  IX.,  whom  we  know  are  the  James  and  Louis  of  Scott.  They 
supply  the  place  of  History  and  Biography.  When  well  written,  they  are 
an  eminent  aid  to  the  scholar.  They  fling  the  romance  of  individual  life 
around  the  details  of  the  historian,  and  impress  upon  the  mind  particulars 
otherwise  forgotten. 

At  the  head  of  this  class  of  writers  stands  at  the  present  time  Alexandre 
Dumas,  who  in  the  dramatic  energy  of  his  works  rivals  Sir  Walter,  and  in 
fertility  of  incident  is  equalled  only  by  Smollet.  Did  he  possess  the  inimi- 
table descriptive  powers  of  Scott,  he  might  safely  challenge  all  rivalry,  and 
distance  all  competitors  in  his  own  peculiar  line.  As  an  historical  novelist, 
his  excellence  consists  in  his  admirable  adaptation  of  event,  character,  and 
language  to  the  time  of  which  he  writes.  His  Richelieu  is  the  Richelieu  of 
history,  relentless,  inscrutable,  omniscient,  using  friends  and  enemies  alike 
for  his  own  ends,  compressing  opposition  and  conspiracy  itself,  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  bis  plans.  His  other  characters  are  such  as  the  time  would 
bring  forth.  In  all  his  other  novels  he  adheres  to  historic  truth  in  the  same 
degree.  He  elucidates  history.  As  a  novelist,  he  has  two  prime  qualities  : 
the  hurrying  rapidity  of  his  incidents,  and  the  dramatic  fidelity  of  his  cha- 
racters. He  has  no  plot  that  wearies  us  to  unravel  its  intricacies.  His 
characters  show  for  themsdves,  by  their  language,  what  they  are.  He  never 
delineates.  He  never  moralizes.  He  does  not  tell  us  such  an  one  hates, 
loves,  is  grieved — we  see  it  and  feel  it  ourselves.  His  characters  need  but 
to  speak  to  be  recognized. 

In  the  novel  before  us  we  detect  nearly  all  these  great  characteristics. 
"  George  the  Planter"  is  a  tale  of  the  sunny,  luxurious  Isle  of  France,  in  the 
Indian  Ocean.  We  have  read  "Indiana,"  in  which  the  rich  and  most  sur* 
passing  beauty  of  that  lovely  country  is  described.  Dumas  has  finished 
tiie  Picture,  by  giving  its  history  in  a  dramatic  fiction  well  worthy  a  niche 
beside  the  magnificent  storv  termpd  the  "  Count  of  Monte-Cristo." 

STRINGER  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
222  Broadway,  corner  Ann  street,  New  York. 


Stringer   &  Townsend's   Advertiser. 


USEFUL  AND  ENTERTAINING  BOOKS 

JUSTPUBI.I8HXSBT  il 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND,  , 

223    BROAJDWAir,    NETIT  TORK.  . 


SAM  SLICK'S    NEW  WORK  : 
THE  OLD  JUDO-E;    Or  LIFE  IN  A  COLON7. 

'i  Full  of  the  Clockmaker's  shrewdness  and  quaint  comicalities." — Examiner. 

"  There  is  a  fund  of  wit  and  wisdom  in  this  amusing  volume.  It  abounds  in  lively  sal- 
lies, capital  sketches  of  men  and  manners,  interesting  narratives  and  amusing  anecdotes — 
all  given  in  Sam  Slick's  attractive  and  inimitable  manner." — Sun.    Price  26  cents. 

II. 

THE    LANCASHIRE    WITCHES; 

BY   W.    HARRISON   AINSWORTH,    ESQ. — PRICE  50    CTS. 

"Mr.  Ainsworth  in  this  romance  has  made  an  excellent  use  of  much  profound  and  curi- 
ous knowledge,  both  of  the  time  and  of  the  scene  in  which  the  action  is  laid." — Examiner. 

"  Mr.  Ainsworth  may  be  styled  the  Salvator  Rosa  of  novelists.  He  delights  in  the  thril- 
ling— the  terrible — the  wildly  roraantif .  In  gorgeous  depth  of  coloring,  in  vivid  reality  of 
portraiture,  in  enthralling  interest,  Mr.  Ainsworth's  romances  are  almost  unrivalled.  '  The 
Lancashire  Witches'  excites  a  powerful  and  undiminished  interest  throughout" — Sun. 

III. 

THE  PRINCE  ;    Or  THE  LIFE  OF  AN  ADVENTURER 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  VALENTINE  VOX." — 50  CTS. 

"  It  is  refresMng  to  turn  from  the  sentimental  kind  of  novel  to  this  amusing  volume — the 

appearance  of  which  at  this  cheerful  season  is  so  apropos.     The  varied  fortunes  of  the 

hero  afforded  opportunities  of  depicting  the  phases  of  life,  both  grave  and  gay.      These 

i  have  not  been  lost  upon  the  ingenuity  of  the  author,  who  alternates  touches  of  patlios  and 

traits  of  humor,  with  admirable  effect." — AihencBum. 

-     .  IV.  ■.  -■    . 

CALIFORNIA  AND  ITS  GK>LD  REGIONS. 

With  a  view  of  San  Francisco — a  large  Map  with  the  routes  traced  thereon,  and  an  amount 
of  statistical  and  general  information  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  work.  Fifth  edition. 
Price  60  cents. 

"  This  book  is  the  thing  wanted.  It  has  a  large,  complete,  and  accurate  map  of  the  ge- 
ography and  topography  of  every  mile  of  the  country — the  land  and  sea  routes — the  new 
route  by  Fort  Smith — together  with  every  sort  of  information  touching  aliment,  health  and 
sickness,  clothing,  equipment,  and  general  management.  The  price  is  50  cents.  To  all  it 
will  prove  of  infinite  value." — Tribune. 


V. 


VOLUPTUOUSNESS; 

BY  EUGENE   SU^ — BEING     THE    FOURTH    STORY    OF 

Price  25  cenfs. 
These  stories  possess  all  the  interest  of  the  "  Mysteries  of  Paris 


Or    MADELINE. 


THE     SEVEN   CAPITAL    SINS. 


They  are  well  told,  the 
characters  clearly  unfolded,  and  the  conclusion  natural  and  satisfactory.  They  are  indeed 
the  master-pieces  of  this  popular  author — fully  sustaining  his  great  reputation.  Those 
already  published  are :  Ist — "Pride  ;"  price  50  cents — 2nd — "  Envy  ;"  price  25  cents — 3d 
— "  Anger  ;"  price  25  cents ;  and  "  Voluptuousness."    Each  story  is  complete  in  itself. 


I 


GEORGE: 


>  4- 


PMNTEH  Of  THB  UU  OF  MMGB. 

AUTHOR  OF  '  THE  COUNT  OF  MONTE  CRISTO,"  "  GENEVIEVE,"  Etc.,  Etc 


Price,   50   €ciit§. 


Since  the  time  of  Scott,  the  department  of  historical  novel  writing  has 
been  an  important  part  of  the  literature  of  the  world.  All  that  the  gene- 
rality of  the  world  know  about  certain  characters,  who  have  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  its  history,  is  derived  from  them.  They  give  us  our  ideas 
about  the  habits  of  the  people  and  the  events  of  the  times.  The  James  I. 
and  Louis  IX.,  whom  we  know  are  the  James  and  Louis 'of  Scott.  They 
supply  the  place  of  History  and  Biography.  When  well  written,  they  are 
an  eminent  aid  to  the  scholar.  They  fling  the  romance  of  individual  life  j 
around  the  details  of  the  historian,  and  impress  upon  the  mind  particulars 
otherwise  forgotten. 

At  the  head  of  this  class  of  writers  stands  at  the  present  time  Alexandre 
Dumas,  who  in  the  dramatic«  energy  of  his  works  rivals  Sir  Walter,  and  in 
fertility  of  incident  is  equalled  only  by  Smollet.  Did  he  possess  the  inimi- 
table descriptive  powers  of  Scott,  he  might  safely  challenge  all  rivalry,  and 
distance  all  competitors  in  his  own  peculiar  line.  As  an  historical  novelist, 
h.is  excellence  consists  in  his  admirable  adaptation  of  event,  charqifter,  and, 
language  to  the  time  of  which  he  writes.  His  Richelieu  is  the  Richelieu  of 
history,  relentless,  inscrutable,  omniscient,  using  friends  and  enemies  alike 
for  his  own  ends,  compressing  opposition  and  conspiracy  itself,  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  his  ]ilans.  His  other  characters  are  such  as  the  time  would 
l)riiig  forth.  In  all  his  other  novels  he  adheres  to  historic  truth  in  the  same 
de;.;ree.  lie  elucidates  history.  As  a  novelist,  he  has  two  prime  qualities  : 
i!ie  hurrying  rapidity  of  hia  incidents,  and  the  dramatic  fidelity  of  his  cha- 
V.  raeters.  Ho  has  no  plot  that  wearies  us  to  unravel  its  intricacies.  His 
h  clmraoti.rs  show  for  themselves,  by  their  language,  what  they  are.  He  never 
1 1  ilelineatos.  He  never  moral iz^cs.  He  does  not  tell  us  sui;h  an  one  hates, 
loves,  i.s  grieved — wo  see  it  and  feel  it  ourselves.  His  cliaracters  need  but 
to  speak  to  bo  recognized. 

In  the  novel  before  us  we  detect  nearly  all  these  great  characteristics. 
"  George  the  Planter"  is  a  tale  of  the  sunny,  luxuiious  Isle  of  France,  in  tlie 
Indian  Ocean.  We  'lave  read  "Indiana,"  in  which  the  rich  and  most  sur- 
passing  beauty  of  that  lovely  country  is  described.  Dumas  has  finished 
tiie  Picture,  by  giving  its.  history  in  a  dramatic  fiction  well  worthy  a  niche 
beside  the  magnificent  story  termed  the  "  Count  of  Monto-Cristo." 


iK<MM 


By  the  AntJior  of  ''Heetor  O'Halloran.' 


>■     "  Tv:, 


BRIAN  O'llNJ; 

s  i. ;:  ■  •  '^  ^IQ      OR,  ':,    C*^ 


■v>V 


LUCK  IS  EVERYTHING. 

BY  W.H.  MAXWELL, 

AUTHOR   OF   "HECTOR   O'HALLORAN,"   "STORIES    OF  WATERLOO," 
"  WILD  SPORTS  OF  THE  WEST,"  "  TORRES  VE  DRAS,"  ETC. 

WITH 

Twelve  Humorous  lUastrative  Engravings,  done  by  Orr,  from 

Gruikshanks'  designs. 


PRICE    FIFTY    CENTS.  > 

This  book  possesses  such  et  current  of  point  and  vivacity,  and  is  so  capitally 
written,  that  we  urge  both  Lever  and  Lover  to  look  to  their  laurels. — London 
Examiner.  .  .     ,/  .      ■  _.  ■  y    - 

Maxwell  handles  his  battle  scenes  magnificently ;  and  who  so  fit,  for,  a  sol- 
dier himself,  he  has  "  done  the  state  some  service."  We  have  read  Brian 
O'Linn,  and  really  don't  kno^v;  which  most  to  admire — his  fine  graphic  pen- 
cillings,  or  his  facetious  narration. — London  Times. 

Gruikshanks'  magical  crayon  has  done  exceeding  justice  to  a  most  excellent 
Story. — Athenaum. 

This  book  will  render  any  man  proof  against  ennui,  who  chances  to  procure 
it. — Literary  Chronicle. 

"  Luck  is  everything,"  said  we,  after  perusing  this  book.  Maxwell  must 
have  been  in  the. happiest  vein ;  for  "  Brian  O'Linn  "  is  a  piirfect  type  of  the 
school  that  has  won  its  way  so  deservedly  into  the  public  esteem. — Spectator. 

He  who  reads  this  production,  will  not  do  it  with  a  dry  eye  :  tears,  albeit, 
not  drawn  from  scenes  pathetic,  or  doleful,  but  from  the  most  comical  pic- 
tures of  life  that  e'er  shook  the  fat  sides  of  a  turtle-fed  alderman- — Bell's 
Weekly  Messenger. 

STRINGER  &  TO WNSEND, 

222, Broadway,  New  York. 


■-Ar—'-Vii-e-.- »^-  i*-*e»S^p.^ 


:«t^|Hf^^^  ^a-r^ij"*  ■ 


PRIDE— COMPLETE. 


PRICE  FIFTY  CENTS. 


f- 


THE 


.J 


\m 


Jlf^S!' 


l^i>2 


liiif  il  illi. 


ilrittet-or,  CJe  SSucJees. 


a; 


3^  aasaaa  saa* 

STranalatc^  from  tijc  Jrcnci)  b^  IHre.  (ffmil^  0oren. 


NEW  YORK : 
STRINGER  &TQWNSEND, 

^  So.  222  BROADWAY  , 

1848. 


BMiV  l-^eCff^LETK. 


PRICE 


CENTS. 


THE 


ii 


If  !M  iiflf u  in 


r  r  y  11 


f-iil 


X; 


^n^x-oty  fttiittitk  Baatien. 


Q^  aaaaoa  aas^ 


u. 


NE  W- YORK:         • 

BURGESS,  STRINGER  &  CO^  222  BROADWAY. 

18  4a 


± 


99! 


'<  t 


^ 


MARTIN  THE  nmmMi 

''•    •■'  C-;  ■    ,:J^   JV-'l    -K, .    OR,  THE  ' -^t^!!  •     ^^i^^    f'    - 

MBMOffi§  Of  i  f l£if-DB-CliMBHB. 


*  T  .< 


BY  EUGENE  SUE, 

PRICE  75  CENTS. 


I  --I        ; 


/     t 


Tlie  above  work  may  be  truly  pronounced  the  masterpiece  of  its  gifted  and  excellent  au- 
thor, for  it  is  the  enibodimeutof  all  his  thoughts,  rctiections  and  labors  upon  the  great  subject 
whicli  lies  next  liis  heart — that  of  the  melioration  of  the  social  conditipn  of  the  poorei 
classes  of  Prance.  From  the  social  structure  of  the  United  States  no  analagous  picture 
can  bo  drawn  of  the  squalid  jiovcrty,  hopeless  moral  dogiadatioii,  and  hardened  crime, 
that,  like  llio  Ujjas,  permeaie  with  their  poisonous  breath  the  masses  of  the  densely  popu- 
lated cities  of  Europe.  M.  Sue's  aim  and  etimts  are  of  the  noblest  and  most  humanising 
character.  He  seeks,  by  the  cniploy»icnt  of  his  acknowledged  powerfid  abilities,  to  rousti 
the  legislhtion  as  well  as  the  philanthropic  and- charitable  classes  of  h-is  country  t»piit  forth 
an  arm  in  jnomotion  and  support  of  a  better  order  of  thing?,  fl  is  through  his  Martin 
THE  FauNDi.rNC  he  shows  how  this  isto^Je  done.  Whether  he  accomplish  his  ei>d,  oi 
not,  the  civic  wreath  is  his  dxw  ;  for  as  the  machine  now  works  in  the  European  cai>ituls, 
j)olhUioii  and  crime,  disease  and  destitution,  must,  to  tlte  disgrace  of  civilization,  remain 
the  festering  j>lagiie-spots  they  are,  upon  the  lair  frame-work  of  human  society. 

NOTICES    OF    THE    PRIi^SS. 

•  *  * — let  me  endeavor  to  do  some  sort  of  justice  to  tliis  noblest  production  ol-  a  gene- 
rous and  ardent  soul.  Until  tlirce  days  since^I  had  not  looked  into  this  work,  having 
heard  that  there  was  something  in  tl«e  early  numbers  that  shocked  the  moral  sensibilitie;? 
of  its  first  publishers.  I  jumped  at  tlie  conclusion  that  a  book  they  had  discarded  on  mo- 
ral grounds  must  be  profligate  indeed  In  this  I  did  gross  wrong  to  tlie  author,  as  those 
generally  da  who  judge  without  reading.  If  ever  a  bock  was  m  the  highest  sense  moral, 
then  is  Martin  dbserving'  of  that  distinction.  True,  it  has  scenes  and  narrations  of  revolt- 
ing depravity — and  there  are  two  or  three  which,  not  being  absohitely  essential  to  the  en- 
Ibrcement  of  tte  great  lessons  of  Duty  and  Philantliropy,  which  '  Hartin'  was  intended  to 
inculcate,  I  heartify  wish  had  been  omitted.  Yet  even  in  this  view  flie  book  is  not  so  ob- 
jectionable as  those  productions  of  Le  Sage,^  Smollett,  Fielding,  Sterne,  etc.  (to  say  nothing 
of  Bulwer,)  which  the  wise  world  has  long  regarded  with  scarcely  qualified  admiration, 
and  which  find  a  place  without  rebuke  in  nearly  all  considerable  libraries.  Without  sutfer- 
infjthe  interest  of  the* narrative  to  flag,  the  author  has  enriched  his  pages  with  frequent 
and  va!ual||p  Mints  for  improvement  in  Rural  Agriculture,  Domestic  Economy,  Popnlai 
Education,  the  Prevention  of  Crime,  &c.,  &c.,  making  this  m  fact  the  noblest  work  ol 
imagination  in  wliich  the  Spirit  of  the  Age  has  yet  embodied  itself.  I  have  alreauy  said 
that  faults  are  evident  throughout  the  work — faults  of  education,  of  taste,  and  of  lax  mo- 
rality— yet  so  completely  are  they  overbalanced  by  its  lofty  and  practi^cal  excellencies,  thai 
I  do  not  believe  a  single  reader  will  be  injured,  while  thousands  must  be  enlightened,  im- 
proved, moi  ally  tilevated  by  its  thonghtfnl  perusal. — Horace  Greeleyfa  Letter  to  the  Tri- 
bune. 

Perhaps  no  work  has  yet  been  writren,  of  what  are  ealled  novels,  which  mcwre  fully  ex- 
hibits the  potency  of  the  rornariccr,  to  do  good,  in  a  certain  way  than  this  !  It  cuts  into 
the  very  heart — t)ie  sore,  gangrened',  suffering,  guihy  heart — of  that  immense  social  evil 
which  has  accunudated  for  long  and  artificial  ages  over  the  states  of  Europe ;  exposes  tho 
monstrous  cllect  of  the  undue  distribution  of  wealth,  by  unnatural  means,  which  provnils 
in  the  ironarchies  there— and  with  the  most  daring  boldness  portrays  facts,  which,  with 
all  their  repnlsivent??s  to  the  delicate  sense,  and  while  the  over-prudish  may  frown,  are 
facts;  and,  being  so,  are  as  necessary  to  be  exposed  to  strong  light,  as  the  putrifyinj 
flesh  on  which  tlie  surgeon  is  to  perform  a  life-saving  operation!  We  like  this  booX 
well,  aiid  hope  it  will  be  read  yvidicXy.— Brooklyn   Star. 

BURGESS,  STRINGER  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
•  222  Broadway,  corner  Ann  street,  New  York. 


^.uy^^t*' 


•  -.«t«.»M;>/--W?*(MlfiM(«W».«rf  ■**»'».'-'M<»>v»-  ■ 


ADVMITOHH  MEDMl  STUDMT. 

i  fieiitg  StorieB  in  iHij  Hit. 

1  BY  ROBERT  DOUGLAS,  SURGEON,  R.  N, 

■  JN  TWO  VOLS. -PRICE   FIFTY   CENTS. 

.,  ./  * 

EXTRACTS  FROM  MANY  NOTICES  OF  THIS  WORK. 

"  Wo  welcome  a  great  addition  just  made  to  our  travelled  literature.  Our  records  of  travels, 
and  of  historical  and  biographical  events,  give  the  first  place  to  our  narrators.  Mr.  Douglas  has 
placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  this  class  of  writers." — Examiner. 

"  The  most  extraordinary  production  that  has  issued  from  the  prew  for  years." — Weekly  Chron. 

"  Original,  vigorous,  edifying,  and  absorbingly  interesting." — Jen-old's  Newspaper. 

"  Here  is  a  book  whose  very  title  is  attractive  ;  but  not  half  so  much  so  as  the  run  of  the  con- 
tents. The  author  deserves  the  thanks  of  every  reader  for  the  production  ef  so  vigorous  and  fas- 
cinating a  work." — Frazer's  Magazine. 

"Abounding  with  incident  and  tho  closest  observation  of  character  and  ©vents." — N.  Y.  Com- 
tnercml  Advertiser.        n^-^r.-siK -^'^■'  >  -i^-'  '       "'V 

"  His  life  brought,  to  a  sudden  and  premature  close,  young  Douglas,  in  his' writings,  evinced  an 
originality  of  conception,  a  treadth  of  observation,  and  a  progressive  improvement,  which  gave  the 
most  encouraging  promise  of  future  greatness." — Tribune. 

COOPER^IS   BEE-HlJi¥TER. 

^  At  very  considerable  cost  we  have  secured  this  story  of  Western  Life,  just  completed  by  the 
author  of  "  The  Leatherstocking  Tales,"  with  any  one  of  which  it  will  vie  in  the  charms  which 
have  rendered  this  series    ^f  our  national  literature  so  popular.     It  is  called 

THE    OAK   OPENINGS: 

'  "■'■''^''''^^^"^^  OR,  THE  BEE-HUNTER.  j^- - 

e  Y  J.    F  E  N  I  M  O  R  E    COOPER.    /- 

V    V   ■     ■.        ':   /    PRICE   FIFTY    CENTS.  ilnv^T 


^••!    >-s.-..'jr;.;>  ■■ 


The  foUoioing  Notices  have  already  iip2>eared.  ,'-*'■:' ;'^  —•- 
"It  is  one  of  those  life-picturing  books  which  can  scarcely  fail  to  please  every  reader. — 
Western  character,  often  created  bj  circumstances,  or  if  not  created,  shaped  thereby,  assumes  a 
variety  of  feature,  the  contemplation  of  which  neirer  fails  to  afford  rich  amusement.  Cooper  has, 
in  this  novel,  drawn  some  of  the  happiest  scenes  that  even  hisJiigli  descriptive  powers  have  ever 
produced." — Troy  Whig. 

"  Western  character,  shaped   and  coBtroIled  as  rt  is  by  the   force  of  circumstances,  is  rarely 

portrayed,  and  there  is  a  happy  vein  of  hunior  pervading'  the  work,  that  will  «ecnre  for  it  a  large 

circle  of  readers.     The  title  is  purely  tlie  language  of  the  Far  West,  where  formerly  the  pursuit  of 

the  wild  bee,  and  the  appropriation  of  its  stored-up  sweets,  formed  a  peculiar  and  lucrative  em- 

I  ployment  to  quite  a  number  of  the  hardy  pioneer  settlers." — Tribune. 

I      "  Belongs  to  the  eariy  <;la8s  of  tales  by  the  author  ;  and,  in  our  opinion,  eqtial  t«  the  very  best 
I  of  that  series." — Weekly  Dispatch. 

"  The  scenes  are  laid  at  liome.     The  book  is,  we  are  happy  to  say,  in  the  author's  old  style ; 
and  to  say  this  is  to  establish  its  merit."— Bosfoa  Atlas. 

STR.INGER  iz,  TOWNSEND, 
The  Great  PuUishing  Depot,  222  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


THE 


COUNT  OF  MONTE-CHEISTO. 


BY  ALEXANDER  DUMAS. 


->u 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  THREE  GUARDSMEN,"  "TWENTY  YEARS  AFTER,' 

ETC..  ETC. 

PRICE    ONE     DOLLAR. 


STRINGER  AND  CO 


>  v.ji-'i- 


Have  ju.-Jt  isaued  a  perfect  and  faithful  translatiwi  of  this  powerful  and  magRifieeBt 
Romance — a  work  which  the  Paris  Reviewers  assert  to  have  thrown  Hugo,  Baizac, 
and  Sue,  in  the  shade,  and  which  has  already  taken  the  reading  community  here  by 
surprise. 

The  conception  of  the  plot  is  both  striking  and  original.  A  man,  young,  gener- 
ous, tender  and  resohite  is  through  the  malice  and  injustice  of  others  conwmned  to 
waste  bis  life  in  a  prison.  He  has  the  good  fortune  to  come  oat  with  his  powers 
unbroken.  The  company  of  one  of  those  persons,  so  far  beyond  their  age  in  intel< 
lect  that  it  deems  them  mad,  has  educated  him.  Destiny  makes  Ihia  mastter  of  an 
immense  fortune.  The  dreadful  loss  in  the  years  of  life,  the  robbery  of  its  bloom 
might  have  been  conipensated  by  improvement  in  the  fruit,  had  he,  on  leaving  his 
dungeon,  found  his  anections  safe  from  the  havoc  of  the  stomi.  But  lus  fatlier  is 
dead  of  starvation,  the  woman  whom^e  hve6,  and  frcHH  whom  he  had  been  torn  on 
the  eve  of  marriage,  has  forgotten  him  and  given  herself  to  his  rival.  His  heart 
becomes  rigid  and  lost  to  all  loving  trust  in  the  Power  who  bad  permitted  auch  ap- 
palling blights  to  fall  on  him  and  on  his  fellow-men. 

Life  needing  an  object,  be  constitutes  himself  an  avmging  demon  to  punish  those 
who  have  wrought  this  Ul.  For  years  he  is  dedicated  to  tms  wwk,  and  the  plan, 
by  which  he  at  last  draws  all  his  prey  into  the  net,  is  magnificently  wrought  and 
gives  a  strong  continuous  interest  to  the  narrative.  But  the  pait  that  is  original  is 
the  ingenuity  with  which  his  intellect  and  bis  wealth  are  brought  to  bear  on  the 
springs  of  society  to  so  great  an  extent.  There  is  a  good  deal  also  characteristic 
of  the  poet,  and  which,  in  times  when  civic  life  shall  ^come  still  more  luxurious 
and  rapid,  will  be  looked  back  to  with  interest,  as  a  sketch  of  the  early  stages  of 
that  era. 

The  book  is  full  of  brilliant  scenes ;  the  rough  sketches  of  character  and  place 
are  always  good.  There  are  many  passages  showing  knowledge  of  the  passions 
and  tliat  fermentation  in  the  dregs  of  life  commonly  called  the  world,  which  no  other 
man  could  write.  Monte-Christo,  abstinent  in  the  midst  of  pleasures,  feeding  si- 
lently on  his  own  heart,  lets  all  the  personages  play  out  their  natural  parts,  only 
furnishing  the  occasions  and  means  for  them  to  use  or  misuse,  according  to  their 
tendencies.  Dumas  is  of  a  liberal  and  sumptuous  nature ;  his  African  blood  is  warm, 
and  in  his  pages  we  accordingly  discover  the  glowingsof  a  heart  gushing  with  feel- 
ing, as  well  as  a  hand  nerved  to  pen  the  effusions  of  an  intellect,  strong  and  vigo- 
rous from  his  innate  genius  and  study. 

The  work  is  published  in  cue  large  Volume,  likewise  in  two  Volumes  : — in  either 
form  it  is  sold  at  One  Dollar,  accompanied  by  Twelve  solerdid  Engravings. 


VOLUME  L 


COMPLETE  EDITION.  PRICE  50  CTS. 


! 


THE 


COUIT  OF  ilOITG-CRISTO.I 

BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 


• 


BASTES  PERUSINO   THE   ADBE's  WORK. 

V>      NE  W.YORK: 
STRINGER    &    TOWNSEND, 

(lAte  Burgess,  Stringer  &  Co  > 

•322   BKOADWAT. 

1849. 


Hinii 


BY  G.  W.  M.  REYNOLDS, 

AUTHOR  OP  **LIFE  IN   LONDON,"   "ESTHER  DE  MEDINA,"   THE  REFORMED  HKJHWAt' 
MAN,"   "WALLACE,.  THE  HERO   OF    SCOTLAND,"   ETC.,  ETC. 


In  Two  Vols.— Price,  One  Dollar, 


f. 


b 


Bv  a  brilliant  episode,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Italy,  the  oppresaon  of  Austria  over  that 

fertile  and  ill-fated  region  is  truthfully  and  fearlessly  narrated,  and  is  deeply  exciting.     Nor  has 

the  Author  confined  himself  lo  the  influenno  of  foreign  tyranny.     The  immense  power  wielded  by 

ihe  oligarchy  of  England,  to  the  oppression  of  their  ow»  countrymen  and  the  aggression  of  the 

world — ^itsorigin  and  probable  duration — are  dwelt  upon  with  the  feelings  of  a  patriot  and  a  philo- 

soplieF.    There  islio  situation  of  life  but  what  may  here  find  a  parallel.    The  gilded  contanjina- 

tions  of  a  court,  the  boudoir  of  the  fair,  the  exhibitions  of  the  legislature,  and  the  law — wielding 

llieiT  powers  Rke  an  exasperated  and  bruta^onqueror — the  jail,  the  hulks,  and  the  gallows,  and  all 

the  esnsequences  of  Crime,  «;ill  b«  found  iu  these  volumes.      Of  the  Author  it  may  bo  said,  as 

Johhsoa  of  Sh;Jispeare,  ,  H  "  '  ■  i*'-,..,'     ^  ; '"^ -Wl^i;. * i'ij''^; \      '         ■ ;. 

•  /•  \  ■  -.  .  '•'•■  '  «-.'■• 

".'  ~         "Eaeh  change  of  many-coloredlife  he  drew." 

Nor  is  it  alone  the  more  abhorrent  vices  that  are  displayed.    The  virtues  are  not  neglccte<^ 
Scenes  of  filial  piety  and    refined   Iotc  give  a  charm  to    the  work,  and  throw  their  benign 
influence  like  a  halo  round  the  narrative,  and  make  it  as  interesting  to  the  fair  and  beautiful  as  in- 
structive to  the  man  of  the  wprld,  and  to  inexperience  and  happy  ignorance.     To  the  inhabitant  of  j 
the  Western  World,  and  those  who  are  m>t  in  populous  cities  pent,  EitEN  MoA'roe  will  bo  peculiarly  | 
interesting.     They  can  peruse  without  participhting,  and  enjoy  without  the  danger  of  contamina-  j 
tion.     This  immunity  from  the  eor.tngien  of  a  highly  civilized  life,  they  owe  to  the  bravery  and  , 
energy  of  their  forefathers  ;    but  they  will  nftt  know,  until  they  have  iJerused   this  work,  what  i 
temptations  assail  virtud^  nor  what  rewards  encourage  viee. 

Ellen  MuiIroe  is  published  in  two  volumes,  printed  miiformly  with  Life  in  L©ndon,  of  which 
it  is  a  sequtl  ]  the  price  is  the  same.  Fifty  Cevts  per  Volume.  The  f  llustrations  are  by  the  same 
artist,  and  it  is  neatly  priiUcd,  with  good  reading  type,  on  good  paper,  and  sewed  in  an  elegant 
paper  cover.  .  /       '-.,[;  ' 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND,  ] 

222  Broadway,  New  York. 


.♦   -^ 


'--.■..|-v..  ;„#, 


>fi'»  MKwrjiWii. 


l;.^(^.Z 


i" 


THE 


FIRST  FALSE  STEP; 

€R,  THE  PATS  OF  CEIME. 


When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  l>etray  ; 

What  charm  can  sooth  her  melancholy— 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ! 


NEW  YORK: 

BURGESS,  STRINGER  &.  CO.,  222  BROADWAY. 

1848. 


f.' 


r. 

i 

f 


'a 


A  WORK  OF  THRILLING   INTEREST,   FOUNDED  UPON  THE   SCENES   OF 
HAPPINESS  AND  MISERY,  VIRTUE  AND  VICE»  WHICH  CONSTITUTE 

Hifr  in  t)ir  Mvitinft  smttv^^x^li^. 

AUTHOR  OF  **ELLKN  MONROE,"  "ESTHER   UB  MEDINA,"    "  XUE    REKORMJEU"  HIOHWAY- 

MAN,"  "■WALLACE,"  ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC.  ' 


In  Two  Large  Volumes. — Price,  Qae-.  IDoHa?. 

V    ■ — ° —        :.-m] 

It  may  safely  be  atMertod,  tk»|  no  pnUieatioi)  c^f  the  present  day  ha»  pToduced  so  gre!>t  a  sen- 
satiott  ill  the  British  Mctr<^oli9>  (t»  tha>t  c-auned  by  tho  uppearance  of  the  afe>ve  work.  Not  even 
t^e  eelebrated  Mysteries  of  Paris,  by  Eitg6>iM  Sue,  was  received  with  greater  app49Baer  er  met 
with  more  deserved  sueceas.  It  i»  oitly  iu  tlie  cities  of  tke  CHd  World  tiiat  such  scenes  are  eii- 
ac1ed>  which,  wheu  fuithfuHy  and  vividly  depicted,  eause  us  t*  (ladder  ait  their  straiige  and  Ivide- 
ouv  esotrasts — the  eTtremes  of  WeaUh  and  Want — of  Pride  and  iWerty— of  Luxury  aud  Licen- 
tiouKiess.  Those  whoYiave  vxrer  witBOssed  them  would  BOt  ima^a«  their  eaiartenee  ;^  but  the  pe- 
rusal of  **  Life  in  Lor^n"  wi9  csaTiiiee  all  thai  they  are  uot  the  (^fcpring  alone  of  fertile  fancy, 
but  that  all  the  main  incideuta  must  have  had  their  foundatioas  m  fax^t.  The  Author  has,  i»  this 
histsry,  laid  bare  the  recesses  of  high  life — ^he  has  exposed  its  nioustrous  afrogaoce — its  ilt-fou«d- 
ed  pretensions,  and  its  exorbitant  tyranny.  He  has  proved  its  utter  hollowBess,  its  conceited 
shaHowness,  and  its  ig^norant  iilotalry.  From  this  point  he  Iras  gradually  expasded,  u»ti}  all 
classes  come  in  review  before  him — oatjl  we  arrive  at  the  last  and  die  lowest^ — those  whoj  cast  iutO' 
the  thick  and  deep  shade  of  soetety,  live  obseurrfy  and  unknowUr  tiH,  arousad  from  their  lethargy 
by  the  pressing  pangs  of  hunger  ami  dcstitirtiou,  tliey  issoe  forth  from  theii  dens,  like  wild  beasts 
of  tlie  forest,  leaving  no  track  beliind  them,  save  that  of  rapine — b»  mark,  save  thai  of  bfood.  Cun- 
ning arrayed  against  power — power  Rriiied  and  united  against  cmiaing — tbe  success  of  either  over 
its  opponent  being  bu4  small.  This  book,  therefore,  isa  picture  of  the  preseat  dcty— of  London'  as  it 
now  is — a  picture  of  the  civilixatioti  of  England,  with  all  its  foal  aitdstartiiag  contrasts ;  and  by  the 
perusallof  this  work,  we  may  aceount  for  that  imme/ise  military  force  which  is  irow  nccesearj-  to 
.protect  Britain  from  those  internal  distarbers'  whom  want  has  reduced  to  despair,  aud  despair 
driven  to  desperation.  Lffz  in  Loni>o«  is  of  unfadiwg  interest.  It  will  always  be  perased  witli- 
delight,  and  future  generatioBs  will  regard  it  as  one  of  the  most  CHrioiw  rseords  of  the  past. 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND, 

222  Broadway^JLew  York. 


r 


'1 


-«j*V»,»«it«V.i"Ti*»  i»»i|l«P»i|ij' 


iW/tMnnMiianaflClilriSCB 


1^  A  STORY  OF  THRILLING  INTEREST, 

FOUNDED   UPON   THE    SCENES    OP 

HAPPINESS  AND  MISERY, 


VIRTUE  AND  HCE. 

WHICH  CONSTITUTE  "LIFE"  IN  THE  BRITISH  METROPOLIS. 


(KUgantls   3[[nstvatz\f. 

N  E  W- Y  O  R  K:  ^ 

BURGESS,    STRINGER    &    CO., 


2  22    BROAD  WAY.  ^-., 

.        .      1848. 


-  V.»«-,.s«j.  -,i^^'  ^ . 


In  Two  Volumes. 


ESTHER  DE  MEDINA 

:•,.'..  OR       ,     ,      \      >•     i      i  i  ■  \  ^         , 

THE  CRIMES  OF  LONDON. 


s 


t: 

i' 


THE  REFORMED  HIGHWAYMAN 

A  SEQUEL  TO  ESTHER  DE  MEDINA. 

BY  G.  W.  M.  REYNOLDS. 


"■f-  r^j* 


Compiled  froin  Facts  g^athered  by  the  Author. 


Kn  Eim  ^^alumes— Price,  (JDne  IBoUsr.  r 


This  book  exhibits  a  strange  drama  of  the  phases  of  life.     There  are  those 
ho  insist  that  to  expose  vice  is  to  allure  mankind  to  its  embrace.     With  the 
h\  more  sensible,  however,-  we  are  of  opinion  that  well  directed  admonition,  and 

il         .  .  .  .  .  ■ 

1 1  the  exhibition  of  the  turpitude  of  crime,  are  effectual  to  the  restraining  and 
Reforming  of  our  frail  erring  nature.  "  Esther  de  Medina"  is  a  fearful  picture 
j  in  some  of  its  lights,  but  a  sofl  radiance  shines  through,  here  and  there,  which 
!  gives  relief  and  tells  us  that  all  God's  creatures  are  not  abandoned  and  lost — 


f\  that  bright  spirits  yet  hover  aiound  to  intercede  for  a  woiid  overflowing  with 


I 


pride  and  deceit. 

The  well-earned  fame  of  the  author  precludes  all  notice  touching  the  merit 
of  these  books.  Reynolds  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  Dumas  of 
England. 


L^ 


STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND, 

222  Broadway,  New  York. 


m 


-4,.,^,  ,s:;^.frc..>; 


PART  I. 


PRICE  50  ct8. 


THE 


REFORMED  RIKRWAYMAi. 

ASEQUELTO  . 

ESTPR  DE  MEDIM,  OR  THE  CRIMES  OF  mm. 


AUTHOR  OF  "LIFE  IN  LONDON,"  «  ELLEN  MUNROE,"  ETC.,  ETC, 


N,EW.yORK: 
STRINGER   &   TOWNSEND. 

(Late  BuTgess,  Stringer  jcCa) 


S3S  BB.OADWAT. 

1849. 


I 


{      ! 


I 


BOOKS  LAST  WRITTEN  B7  DUMAS. 


€'  L  [^       \-   ,4 


MEMOIRS  OF  A  PNYSICIAN 


OK 


BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED.  * 

s 

IN    TWO     VOLUMES. PRICE     ONE     DOLLAR.  '• 


II. 


THE  TWO  DIANAS 


OR    THE 


SON  OF  A  COUNT  AND  THE  DAUBHTER  OF  A  KING 


.     SEVENTY-FIVB     CENT  8. 


^^^^^^^^^^l^^^^^^l^>^^S^^^^^*>^^^^Ni^^^^\^^^»%^^>^^^^^^^>^^^^^^^^^^^^»^^>W^^W^^^^»^ 


Dumas,  nameroas  as  are  his  productions,  can  lay  claim  to  no  better  books  than  the 
above.  It  is  seldom  that  praise  so  universal  is  awarded  to  a  writer,  as  this  man  has  con- 
trived to  gather.  The  "  Memoirs"  is  a  wonderful  book.  How  the  author  obtained  pos- 
sesion of  the  key  which  unlocks  the  Pandora's  box  of  crime,  lust,  villany,  and  intrigue 
which  flourished  during  the  reign  of  the  harlot  king,  passes  our  knowledge  to  conceive. 
By  the  potency  of  a  Joseph  Balsamo  he,  with  trenchant  strokes,  lays  bare  the  corruption  and 
profligacy  of  a  court  which,  rioting  in  luxury  and  voluptuousness  while  the  people  starved 
by  thousands  and  millions,  entailed  on  their  own  children  the  dreadful  retribution  meted 
in  return  during  the  French  Revolution.  Every  reader  will  agree  with  us  that  it  is  one 
of  the  cleverest,  most  exciting  and  instructive  pieces  of  literary  net-work  ever  put  together 
by  the  talent  of  mind. 

"  The  Two  Dianas"  though' preceding  the  "  Memoirs"  in  point  of  liistorical  data  is  of  an 
equally  glowing  and  chivalric  character.  Dumas  revels  among  the  stirring  incidents  of  a 
period  wherein  a  Montmorency,  a  Coligny,  a  Guise,  and  a  Catherine  de  Medicis  flourished. 
The  history  of  these  times  is  a  history  of  blood — a  succession  of  plots  and  counterplotsCthe 
like  to  which  the  world  never  saw.  The  author  marvellously  blends  the  details  of  these 
occurrences  with  the  softer  but  not  less  passionate  scenes  that  arise  from  the  influence  of 
ihe  gentler  sex.  From  deeds  of  arms  he  passes  to  love — from  ambition  to  soft  dalliance — 
with  an  inspiration  and  grace  that  show  his  warm  blood  circulating  with  a  magical 
power.  One  knows  not  which  most  to  admire  in  Dumas — the  exquisite  touch  of  his  imagi- 
native pictures,  the  brilliance  of  his  style  and  description,  or  the  pure  sentiment  and  reflec- 
tion which  pervade  his  well-balanced  dialogue.  <  _ , 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND,  Publishers, 

*  ■■    '     222  Broadway,  Ne9  York, 


i 
i 


THE  PtBEAT 


ilUl 


[CAST  SP0RTIN6  BOOK! 


FEAM  ItlRESTElPS  FIELD  SP9ETS 


OF 


Unittb    0tatc0  anb   Britisl)  JJwxJxnas  of   55'ortl)    !3lmcrica, 
WITH  ENGRAVINGS  OF  EVERY  SPECIES  OF  GAME, 


),>''^'"'-M 


DRAWH  FROM  NATURE,  BY  THE   AUTHOR.   ■  ';.j 

B  T  ■■'■         ■■■  f  *      '-iti 

HENRY  WILLIAM  HERBERT,  Esq., 

AOTHOK  OP  "MT  SUOOTinO  BOx" — "THE  DEERlTALKERl" — "  CROMWEI-L'' — "THE  ROMAN  TRAITOR" — &.C,  SlC. 

2  VOLS.  8to.  price  $4. 


>,■ 


NOTICES    OF    THE    PRESS. 

"  Frank  Forester's  Field  Sports"  is  a  book  which  we  venture  to  predict  the  sportsman  will  hereafter 
swear  by.  Frank  Forester,  bred  up  to  all  the  niceties,  of  English  shooting,  is  not  only  a  scholarly  natu- 
ralist, but  a  practical  American  woodsman.  His  book  will  give  them  some  ideas  in  England,  such  as  they 
never  had  before,  save  theoretically,  of  the  manifold  and  varied  qualities  required  by  am  American  prac- 
titioner of  the  gentle  art  of  following  dog  and  gun.— C.  J''.  Herman  in  Literary  World. 

Our  readers  are  not  to  be  told  of  the  accomplishments  of  Mr.  Herbert  as  a  scholar  and  an  author  of 
versatile  powers  with  an  extraordinary  command  of  the  English  language.  It  is  rare  that  the  elegance 
and  force  of  thorough  mental  culture  are  bestowed  upon  sports,  but  whenever  such  is  the  case,  the  result 
is  charming  to  every  man  of  taste,  whether  a  practical  sportsman  or  not.  The  readers  of  the  "Spirit"  know 
him  well— in  the  science  of  woodcraft,  he  is  there. —  Wm.  T.  Porter  tn  Spirit  of  the  Times. 

Mr.  Herbert  is  an  enthusiast  in  the  manly  pastime  on  which  he  has  written.  He  takes  hold  of  the  sub- 
ject, not  merely  as  one  intimately  acquainted  with  his  theme,  but  like  a  man  whose  heart  is  in  his  work. 
Every  man  who  either  has  or  intends  to  shoulder  a  fowling-piece  or  rifle,  should  at  once  get  hold  of  this 
instructor,  that  he  may  know  how,  where,  and  when  to  bag  his  game. — Albany  Evening  Jourmtt. 

Since  the  days  of  Old  Walton,  or  even  Joanna  Berner's  book  upon  the  "  Mysteries  of  Fishing  with  an 
Angle,"  no  more  delightful  book  has  appeared  than  "  Frank  Forester's  Field  Sports."  Mr.  Herbert  has 
brought  to  the  matter  an  erudition  and  passionate  love  of  his  subject  almost  unknown  in  the  country.  The 
book  is  a  poem  with  more  real  love  of  the  beautiful  than  half  of  the  metrical  compositions  of  the  day 
evince. — Phil.  Daily  News. 

The  work  embodies  the  natural  history  of  the  principal  game-birds  and  animals  of  this  region,  with 
accounts  of  the  season,  manner  and  places  of  taking  each  respectively.  Prairie-hunting,  Forest-hunting, 
Upland,  Bay  and  Lowland  Shooting  are  fully  described,  as  well  as  the  treatment  of  Dogs  in  sickness  and 
health,  their  trainimg,  uses,  fcc.  To  those  following  the  exercise,  we  deem  this  book  indispensable. — If.  Y. 
Tribune. 

Here  we  have  all  the  learning  touching  the  game  of  the  country  happily  compressed,  with  the  fmits  of 
the  observation  of  an  enthusiastic  sportsman.  The  author  is  as  much  at  home  in  the  matter  of  greasing 
boots,  as  in  Greek  hexameters.  He  will  commend  himself  to  all  who  use  the  gun  as  a  sensible,  practical 
man,  with  as  much  poetry  in  him  as  is  requisite  for  the  enjoyment  of  field  sports  in  their  highest  capabili- 
ties ibr  pleasure. — N.  O.  Picayune. 

In  material  and  execution  the  work  is  truly  admirable.  To  the  sportsman  it  is,  of  course,  of  peculiar 
value,  but  not  to  him  alone  : — to  the  naturalist  and  general  reader  it  is  full  of  interest,  aflbrding  accurate 
information  concerning  the  habits^^the  Elk,  Moose,  Bison,  Deer,  and  all  the  game-birds  of  the  North 
American  continent — Southern  Lii^mry  Gazette. 

Mr.  Herbert  is  a  terse,  sharp  writer,  goes  right  to  the  point,  tells  plain  things  in  a  plain  way,  and  yet 
glows  with  all  the  feeliugs  of  a  true  sportsman  in  his  recital  of  the  pleasures  of  shooting. — St.  Louis 
Reveille. 

He  goes  through  the  whole  catalogue  of  gam^,  describes  the  character,  haunt*  and  peculiarities  of  each  ; 
assumes  the  tone  of  a  companion  and  instructor,  and  in  a  hundred  ways  keeps  the  reader  upon  the  scent 
as  keenly  as  the  best  trained  setter. — N.  Y.  Courier. 

The  aullior's  remarks  upon  the  facility  of  preserving  game,  even  in  a  thickly-p  copied  country,  and  the 
baseness  of  slaughtering  birds  in  the  breeding  season,  &c.,  render  the  work  one  of  interest  to  all  who 
cherish  feelings  of  kindly  interest  in  the  animal  creation- — Washington  Intelligencer. 

The  two  volumes  are  capitally  printed  and  got  up,  contain  a  dozen  full-sized  wood-cuts,  to  say  nothing 
of  scores  of  embellished  letters  at  the  heads  of  the  chapters,  all  from  the  pencil  of  the  author. '  We  are 
not  only  sure  that  Mr.  Herbert  has  carefully  copied  his  game  as  a  good  naturalist  and  skilful  sketcher  > 
would  do,  but  we  recognise  the  thorough  artist  in  his  accessories,  small  and  unimportant  as  they  are.  Any 
tolerable  copyist  will  give  you  the  outline  and  the  plumage  correctly  ;  but  the  sedges,  the  twigs,  the, 
tufts  of  grass,  and,  above  all,  the  bird's  attitude,  expression,  and  position  amongst  them — these  tr^-  the 
artist's  skilL  Mr.  Herbert  may  have  drawn  from  stufi'ed  specimens,  but  he  has  given  us  living  copies. — 
N.  Y.  Albion.  • 

Him,  whether  gun  in  hand,  he  lead  us  through  the  brake  or  half-frozen  morass — or  pensive  in  his  study, 
he  aspireito  rival  Buffon  or  Cuvier — or  in  a  sportive  mood  he  indulge  lively  communion  with  a  friendly 
Spirit — him,  whether  Frank  Forester  he  call  himself,  or  by  any  other  now  de  plume,  elect  to  be  designa- 
ted—Am, no  man  for  a  moment  can  mistake,  who  has  an  ear  for  musical  turn  of  phrase  and  originality  of 
style. 

'  Much  credit  is  due  to  the  enterprising  publishers  for  introducing  a  work  of  this  importance  in  so  su|>erb 
a  dress.  lUs  as  worthy  by  its  binding,  typography,  and  illustrations,  *^o  occupy  a  jjlace  on  a  lady's  centre 
table,  as  by  its  intrinsic  worth  it  deserves  a  nook  on  the  student's  shell.  --Democratic  Review. 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND, 

PUBLISHERS,  222  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


ti-'^i-r  '«*■■  .•»»-Tar«^V>'*'"  M^'-r:'-, . 


-  •,'^vm/^^jtk  #!««%,-«■ 


■■'*?* 


PRICE  FIFTY  CENTS. 


.<4V         t        ■'.       »> 


1^ 

■QflHi 


T 


:^-Cl.  S 


f  .     ,P 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE 


^^M'- 


BY   G.  W.   REYNOLDS, 


AUTHOR    OP    "  ELLEN     MUNROE,       "  LIFE    IN   LONDON,       "  THE    REFORMED 

HIGHWAYMAN,"     ETC.,    ETC. 


wwm  snxf  MM  SOTISM  miLMTOMn^MS. 


STRINGER    AND    TOWNSEND, 

322   BROADWAY. 

1849.  ' 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


MODERN   WORKS   OF    FICTION. 


JlLfloat  and  Ashore.  By  Cooper.  4  vols, 
each 

Alonzo,  the  Servant  of  many  Masters 

Admiral's  Daughter 

Alice  May.    Ingraham  » 

Anne  Grey 

Alida,    Miss  Sedgwick 

Adopted  Son,    Van  Lennep 

Ardent  Troughton 

Arthur  O'Leary.    Level* 

Atar  Gull.    Sue 

Alice  Gordon.    Alden 

American  in  Paris  in  Summer 

Anastasius.    Hope 

Adventures  of  a  Country  Girl.  A  stir- 
ring romance 

Alice ;  or,  the  Mysteries.    Bulwer 

Adam  Brown.    Horace  Smith 

Arabella  Stuart.    James 

Arthur.    Eugene  Sue 

Amy  Herbert.    By  a  Lady 

Arrah  Neill.    James 

Arthur  Arundel.    H.  Smith 

Agincourt.    James 

Amaury.    Dumas 

Ascanio.        " 

Alamance;   or,  the  Great  and  Final 
Experiments 

Author's  Daughter.    Mary  Howitt 

Ancient  Regime.    James 

Attila.  "  i. ' 

Abbess.    Mrs.  TroUope 

Adventures  of  a  Younger  Son.    "Tre- 
lawapy 

Allen  Frescott.    Sedgwick 

Amelia.    Fielding.    Cuts  by  Cruik- 
shank  i 

Atlantic  Club  Book.  Paulding  and  others 

Adventures  of  the  Chevalier  Faublas 

Adventures  of  a  Woman  of  Fashion 

Albert  Simmons.    Frank  Forrester 

Adventures  of  Joseph  Andrews.  Field- 
ing 

•Alice  Copley.    Mrs.  Stephens         t^ 

Attache;  or,  Sam  Slick  in  England' 

Arnold,  the  British  Spy.    Ingraham 

Bravo.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each  , 

Bernardo  del  Carpio.    Montgomery 

Ben  Brace.    Chamier 

Blackbeard;   a  page  from  the  Colo- 
nial History  of  Philadelphu 

Black  Plumed  Riflemen       w 

Book  of  St.  Nicholas.    Paulding 

Black  Prophet    Carleton 

Beautiful  French  Girl ;  or,  the  Daugh- 
ter of  Fontainbleu ;  a  tale  of  thrilling 
interest 

Beauty  of  "Woman.  Dr.  A.  Walker. 
With  plates 

Buckskin ;  a  Tale  of  the  Revolution 

Bachelor's  Own  Book.  Cruikshank. 
With  24  plates 

Battle  of  the  Factions,  and  other  Tales. 
Carleton 

B«me'»  Travels  in  Cabool 


25 

<( 

(( 

6 
25 
50 
1  00 
25 
38 
25 
38 
25 
50 

25 

« 

12 
(I 

-  25 

12 

(I 

25 

« 

t( 

(( 

12 

25 

it 

90 

85 
I  25 

50 

70 
50 
25 

P 

25 
12 


25 
50 
25 

25 
25 
62 
50 


25 

50 
25 


Big  Bear  of  Arkansas.    With  10  illus- 
trations by  Darley 
Bowl  of  Punch.    With  70  plates 
Brougham's  Lives  of  Voltaire,  E.ous- 

seau,  &c.    2  vols.  1 

Banker's  Wife.    Mi-s.  Gore 
Birthright  " 

Breach  of  Promise.    By  the  author  of 

"  The  Jill" 
Bosom  Friend 
Beauchamp.    James 
Bush  Ranger  of  Van  Dieman's  Land. 

C.  Rowcroft 
Burton :  or,  the  Sieges.  J.  H.  Ingraham 
Barnaby  Rudge.    Dickens 
Brewer  King.    D'Arlincourt 
Brother's  Temptation.    Arthur 
Bandits  of  the  Osage 
Blanche  of  Brandy  wine 
Book  of  Beauty.    Walker 
Barney  O'Rierdan.    Lever 
Captain  O'Sullivan.    Maxwell      ' 
Cabinet  Minister.    Mrs.  Gore 
Calderon  the  Courtier.    Bulwer     .- 
Caleb  Williams.    Godwin 
CapL  Kyd.    Ingraham 
Chevaliers  of  Virginia.    Carruthers        1 
Charles  Vincent    Willis  1 

Cloudesley,    Grodwin 
Club  Book.    James  and  others 
Contarini  Fleming.    D'Israeli 
Conti  the  Discarded.     Choiley         v. 
Countess  Ida.    Fay  -"is 

Cousin  Hinton.    Miss  Pickering 
Courtier  (the)  of  the  Reign  of  Charles 

II.    Mrs.  Gore 
Cricket  on  the  Hearth.    Dickens     •-  '  '  ■ 
Cromwell.    Herbert  . ,       1 

Cyril  Thornton.     Hamilton     • 
Castle  DismaL    Simms       .     :     '.4.     . 
Captain  Paul.    Dumas 
Charles  Tyrrel.    James  .    . 

Cow  Skinner  \  :  \  i|fc .  .ii.       : 

Colonel  Jack.    De  Foe     -.-^r^'v 
Count  Julian.     Simms         ''~ . 
Corse  d^Leon     James        '  '  . 
Crescent  and  the  Cross.    2  vols.  1 

Czarina.    Mrs.  Hofland 
Charles  O'Malley.    Lever 
Commissioner.    James 
Crimes  of  the  Borgias.    Dumas 
Charles  de  Boiurbon.    Royer 
Clockmaker.    Sam  Slick.  2  parts,  eacb 
Colonel  de  Surville.  Eugene  Sue 
Comic  Nursery  Tales.  Numerous  plates, 

bound 
Cruiser  of  the  Mist 
Chain  of  Destiny ;  or,  Adventures  of  a 

Vagabond  » 

Chronicles  of  the  Bastile    , 
Commander  of  Malta.    Sue.    Plates 
Consuelo.    George  Sand.    3  vols.,  each 
Countess  of  Rudolstadt;   continuation 

of  "  Consuelo."    2  vols.,  each 
Crusaders.    Dumas 


00 

12 

(( 

25 

t( 


75 
50 
19 


80 


75 
25 
25 
70 

m 

80 

90 

37 

87 

B 


-.k.. 


00 
25 

w 

so 

»  ' 

25 
12 

25 

u 
12 


75 

25 
50 

50 


10 


fiTRIN6£R  &  Co.'s 


Champions  of  Freedom.    Aldworth 

Chronicles  of  the  Fleet 

Chronicles  of  Pineville.     12  plates 

Coningsby,  a  Novel.    D'Israeli 

Charcoal  Sketches.    4  plates,  9th  editi<m 

Charcoal  Sketches.  Second  Series,  10 
plates  I 

Chatsworth.    "Ward 

Chance  Medley  of  Light  Matter.  Grat- 
tan 

Citizen  of  Prague.    Mary  Howitt 

Chevalier  d'Harmental.    Dumas 

Chronicles  of  Clovernook.   Jerrold 

Cinq  Mars.    De  Vigny 

Castle  of  EhrensteiiL    James 

Convict.    Jameii 

Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Woman.  Miss 
Pardoe 

Cock  and  Anchor ;  a  Tale  of  Old  Dub- 
lin about  the  period  of  William  the 
Third  of  Orange  memory 

Crater  (the) ;  or  Vulcan's  Peak.  Cooper. 
2  vols.,  each 

Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 
the  Contest 
History     and    Philo- 


25 
12 
50 
25 


25 


12 
25 


Chainbearer. 
Cleveland ;  or, 
Courtesanism, 

sophy  of 

Deerslayer.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 
Diana  of  Meridor;  or,  the    Lady  of 

Monsoreau 
Divorced  (the) ;  founded  on  facts  in  real 

life.    By  Lady  C.  Bury 
Devil's  Pool.    By  Gteorge  Saind 
Desperadoes  of  the  South-west.    Som- 

merfield 
Duke  of  Burgundy.    By  Dumas 
Disgrace  to  the  Family.    W.  B.  Jerrold 
Deer-Stalking.  Frank  Forrester,  author 

of  "  Mv  Shooting  Box."    Engravings 
D'Israeli's  Novels.    2  vols. 
Disowned.     Bulwer 
Devereux.        " 

Daniel  Dennison.    Mrs.  Hofland 
De  Rohan.    Eugene  Sue 
Darnley.    James 
Deerbrook.    Miss  Martineau 
De  I'Orme.    James 
Desultory  Man.  " 
De  Vere ;  or,  the  Man  of  Independenoe. 

Ward 
Diary  of «  Desennuyfie 
Diary  of  a  Physician.    Warren 
Dreams  and  Reveries  of  a  Quiet  Man. 

Theodore  S.  Fay 
Devil's  Wedding  Ring.    Dumas 
Dombey  &  Son.    Dickens.    4  vols. 
Dutchman's  Fireside.    Paulding 
Dowerless.    Mad.  Raybold 
Dombey  &  Daughter 
Dancmg  Feather.    Ingraham 
Decision.    Mrs.  Hofland 
EUinor  Wyllis.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 
Eveline  Neville.    Lady  of  the  South 
Evelina.    Mrs.  Mowatt.    2  vol&,  each 
Eagene  Aram.    Bulwer 
Ernest  Maltravers.  " 
Elves  (the);  translated  from  the  Ger- 
man of  Tieck  by  Carlyle 


12 
25 

1  00 

25 
50 

25 


00 
25 


25 

90 

it 

70 
90 

90 
45 
35 

12 

25 
00 

25 

i( 

13 

25 


Emilia  Wyndham.    By  the  author  of 

."  Two  Old  Men's  Tales" 
Elkswatawa,  the  Prophet  of  the  West. 

French  1 

Exile  of  Erin ;  or,  the  Bashful  Irishman 
Evelina,    Miss  Bumey 
Ethel  Churchill.    Miss  Landon  -' ■ 

Elizabeth  Bennet.    Miss  Austin 
Edward  Manning.    Ingraham  ^ 
Etiquette  of  Courtship  and  Marriage 
Eastern  Belle.    Harry  Hazel 
Fortune  Hunter.    Mrs.  Mowatt 
Forecastle  Yarns.    (Ben  Brace 
Fleetwood.    Godwin 
Female  Blue  Beard.    Sue 
Francesco  Carrara.    Miss  Landon 
Fleetwood ;  or,  the  Stain  of  Birth     ' 
Forest  Days.    James 
Flirtation :  a  Story  of  the  Heart,    Lady 

C.  Bury 
Foster  Brothers,    EmilieCarlen 
Foster  Brother.    James 
False  Heir.  " 

Father  Darcv.    Mrs.  Marsh 
Fortescue.^  J.  S.  Knowles.    2  parts,  each, 
Flirtations^ in  America;  or.  High  Life 

in  New  York  and  Saratoga.    By  the' 

author  of"  Life  in  the  New  World,"  &c- 
Falkner.    Mrs.  Shelley 
Foscarini ;  or,  the  Physician  of  "Venice 
Frank  Orby.    By  one  of  the  Eleven 
Frolics  of  Puck 

Gilbert  Gumey.    With  illustrations 
George  St.  George  Julian.    10  plates, 

4  parts,  each 
Ghost  Stories.  10  humorous  engravings 

by  Darley 
Grumbler.    Miss  Pickering 
Grandfather.        " 
Gambler's  Wife.    Mrl.  Grey 
Gentleman  of  the  Old  School.    James 
George  Balcombe.    Tucker.  1 

Gil  Bias.     Le  Sage.     Translated  by 

gmollett  1 

Gipsy.    G.  R.  P.  James 
Godolphin.    Sir  Edward  Bulwer  L)1ton 
Guy  Rivers.    Simms 
Greatest  Plague  of  Life  - 

George  Barnwell,    Surr 
Groves  of  Blarney.    S.  C.  Hall 
Genevieve ;  a  Romance.    Dumas 
Ghost  Seer 

From  the  French 


Cooper. 


From  the  French  of 


Grisettes  of  Paris, 
Georgette,         a 
Homeward  BoiA 
Home  as  Found, 
Heidenmaur. 
Headsman. 
Haunte.1  Marsh. 

George  Sand 
Henrietta  Temple        ' 
Harry  Lorrequer 
H-;-.  Family.    Miss  Bremer 
Home.  « 

Heretic.    From  the  Russian 
Helen  Halsy,    Simms 
Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

Hugo 


2  vols.,  each 


Victor 


2S 

25 
80 
86 

u 

19 

ti 

25 
12 

26 

It 

u 


« 
« 

w 

(4 


70 
80 
90 
50 

25 

50 
18 
12 
25 
90 
25 

75 
45 
90 
25 
38 
25 

iC 
iC 

13 

12 

25 

II 

« 


4 

85 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


Handy  Andy.    Lover     ^    ''      '.     •'  •  5ft 

Hector  O'Halloran              ;,.       .  , .  :  " 

Hercules  Hardy.    Sue  13 

Humphry  Clinker.  Smolfett  25 
High  Lile  in  New  York.     Josa^H 

Slick  " 

Hotel  Lambert.    Sue  " 

Huguenot,    Jam^s    •  •* 

Heidelberg  "  25 
Hoboken  ;.  a  Romance  of  New  York. 

Theodore  S.  Fay  50 

Home,  or,  the  Iron  Rule.  Mrs.  Ellis  25 
Hope  Leslie.  Miss  Sedgwick  I  25 
Hour  (the) and  the  Man.    Miss  Mart^ 

neau  50* 
Hali  and  the  HamJet  Wm.  Howitt  .  50 
Handley  Cross  Hounds.  Jorrocks  25 
Ingleborough  Hall.  Herbert  " 
Jack  Ashore.  By  the  author  of "  Out- 
ward Bound'^  •* 
Insnaredj  a  Tale  of  "Woman's  Heart. 

Lady  Charlotte  Bury  ** 
Isabel  of  Bavaria ;  or,  the  Chronicles  of 

France  for  the  reign  of  Charles  the 

Sixrh.    Dumas  50 
Isabel  Graham ;  or,  Charity's  Rewajd. 

Herbert  25 
Jew  <rf  Granada ;  a  Romance  of  Spain. 

Maturin  " 

Irish  Sketch  Book.  Titmarsh  50 
Iron  Mask ;  or,  the  days  o£  Tyranny. 

Victor  Hugo  " 

Ivanhoe.    Scott                                     -  95 

Jacob  Faithful.    Marryatt  " 

Jack  Hinton,  the  Guardsman  31 

Journal  of  a  Vicar                         ♦  50 

Jack  of  the  Mill.    W.  Howitt  12 

Jew.  Spindler  " 
Jilt.    By  the  author  erf  the  "  Marrying 

Man"*  «• 

Improvisatore,    Anderson  12 

Inheritance.  Miss  Fierrier  50 
Jessie's  Flirtations.    By  the  anthw  erf 

"  Kate  in  Search  of  a  Husband"  25 

Integrity.    Mrs.  Hofland  •• 

Idle  Hour  Book  « 

Indian  in  Ms  Wigwam.    Schooicraft  50 

Jack  Mak»lm's  Log  25 

Journeyman  Joiner.    Greorge  Sand  id 

Jacob  Faithful.    Marryat  95 

Joseph  Rushbrook  "  " 

Joseph  Hare,  Life  of  " 

Jack  Ashore.    Howard  ^ 

Jack  Sheppard.  Ainsworth  " 
Jack  Ariel  j  or.  Life  on  Bbiutl  an  East 

Indiaman  *' 

Jane  Eyre,  an  Autobiography  " 

John  CavaMer.    Sue  " 

Jack  the  GHant  Killer.   9»  plates           '  12 

Kate  in  Search  of  a  Husband  95 
Knight  of  Gwynn.  Lever.  WilbiHus- 

tration  by  Phiz  50 

Knights  of  the  Seal.    Duganne  38 

King's  Own.    Manyatt  25 

Kenilworth.  Sir  W.  Scott  37 
Last  of  the  Mexicans.    Cooper.  Svob., 

each  25 

Lionel  Lincoln.    Cooper.    2  vol*.,  eaeh  " 


Leonora  L3mmore.  ,  Miss  Leslie 

Lodore.    Mrs.  Shelley 

Lucretia  Maria  Davidson.    Sedgwick 

Love  Match.    Cockton 

Lafitte,  the  Pirate  of  the  Gulf 

Loiterings  of  Arthur  O'Leary.  Harry 
Lorreqoer 

Legends  and  Stories  of  IrehtBd.   Lover 

Life  of  Brummel 

Last  of  the  Barons.    Bulwer 

Lost  Ship.    Neale 

Look  to  the  End.    Mrs.  Ellis 

Love  and  Mesmerism.    H.  Smith 

Lady  of  Milan.  Editetl  by  Mrs.  Thinn- 
son 

LivcHiian  Tales.  By  the  author  of  Let- 
ters from  the  BaHiee 

Leontine.    Mrs,  Mabecley 

Lucretia.    Bulwer 

Leiki  " 

Last  of  the  Fairies,    James 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii.    Bulwer 

Linwoods  (the).    Miss  C.  M.  Sedgwick 

Lord  Roldaa,    Cunningham 

Louisa  MUdmay 

Lovers-  and  Hasl)and».    Arthur 

Last  of  the  Saxons;  a  Tale 

Mercedes  of  Castile.  Cooper.  2  vols., 
each 

Monikins.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 

Mysteries  of  Paris.    Sue 

Merchant's  Ekiughter.    Miss  Pickering 

Marmaduke  Wyvil.    Herbert 

Matilda ;  or,  Memoirs  of  a  Toung  Wo- 
man.    Eugene  Sue 

Martin  Chuzzlewit.    Diekeas 

Monk.    Lewis 

Mince  Pie  for  the  Millicm 

Mysteries  of  the  Heath.    F.  Soulie 

Mary  Stuart,  Clueen  of  Scots:    Dunoas 

Monk's  Revenge  j  or,  the  Secret  Enemy. 
Spring 

Mysteries  of  Old  Londc«.  Re)molds. 
With  Engravings  from  Hogarth.  In 
parts,  each 

Mysteries  of  Berliow    19  steel  plates 

Montezuma,  or,  the  Last  of  ue  Aztecs. 
Maturin 

Midshipman  Easy  4 

Major  Jones's  Courtship.  With  13  en- 
gravings > 

Mrs.  Caudle's  Curtain  Lectures 

Mrs.  Peck's  Pudding,  and  other  Tales 

Marryat's  Novels.     In  numbers,  each 

Marryatt's  Log  of  a  Privateer's  Man 

Merton,  a  Novel.    Theodore  Hook 

Mansfield  Park.    Miss  Austen 

My  Shooting  Box,    Frank  Forrester 

Mysteries  of  the  Back-woods.  By  the 
author  of  "  Tom  Owen,  the  Bee  Hunt- 
er.'^   Illustrations  By  Darley 

Mary  de  Clifford ;  a  Novel 

Maid  of  Honor ;  or,  the  Massacre  ot  St. 
Bartlxdomew 

Marriage.    MissFerrier 

Margaret  Graliam.    James 

Mount  Sorel ;  or,  the  Heiress  of  the  De 
Veres 


2S 

50 
25 
50 

31 
50 
31 

19 
25 


ft 

13 
25 
50 
» 


25 

u 

50 

25 
3» 

50 

« 
w 

50 


25 
75 


50 
12 

>> 
25 

<c 
u 

50 


w 

25 


13 
13 


I 

I 

i  : 


12 


STRINGER  &  Co.'s 


% 


Midnight  Belt 

Mysteries  and  Miseries  of  New  Yorlj. 
Ned  Buntline.    Parts  I.  and  IL,  each 
Matilda.    Eugene  Sue 
Monk's  Revenge.     Spring. 
Master  Timothy's  Book  Case 

Manoeuvring  Mother 

Mabel  the  Actress 

Margaret  Percival 

Marsion  '  • 

Monsieur  Antoine.    Dumas 

Margaret  Catchpole 

Mosaic  Workers.     George  Sand 

Man-al-Arms.    James 

Mary  Morland.     Barker 

Morning  Watches.    Miss  Bremer 

Marquis  de  Letoriere.    Sue 

Moustache.    From  the  French 

Monsieur  Violet,    Marryatt 

Midshipman  Easy.       " 

Mat  Kavanagh.    Carleton 

Manhood.    Deslandes 

Married  and  Single.     Arthur 

Ned  Myers.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 

Nick  Bigelow  the    Counterfeiter,  and 
other  Tales;  cuts 

Naval  Officer.    Marryat 

Nell  Gwynn,  a  Novel.    Ainsworth. 

Newton  Forster.    Marryatt 

Nabob  at  Home 

Neighbors.    Miss  Bremer 

Nina.  " 

New  Sketches  of  Every-day  Life ;  with 
Strife  and  Peace 

Nevilles  of  Garretstown.    Lever 

Next  of  Kin.     Mrs.  Gore 

Nicholas  Nickleby.    Dickens 

Nowlands,  The 

Norman's  Bridge.    Mrs.  Marsh 

Night  and  Morning.  •  Bulwer 

Now  and  Then.    Warren 

Nazarenes;  or,  the  Last  of  the  Washing- 
tons.  A  Revelation  of  Philadelphia, 
New  York,  and  Washington,  in  the 
year  1844.  George  Lippard,  author 
of  the  "  auaker  City,"  &c. 

Nelly  Brown  and  the  Stuflent 

Nan  Darrell.    Miss  Piclffiring 

Naval  Officer  ♦ 

Orphans  of  Unswalden 

Oliver  Twist.     Dickens  4 

Old  Commodore.    Howard 

Onslow,  a  Tale  of  the  South 

Oak  Openings;  or,  the  Bee  Hunter. 
Cooper.    2  voJs.,  each 

O'Doncjghue.    Lever 

Only  Daughter ;  a  Novel 

Old  Judge  ;  (x,  Life  in  a  Colony,  Sam 
Slick.     In  press. 

Only  a  Fiddler  and  6.  T.    Anderson 

Ottawah,  the  last  Chief 

Old  St.  Paul's.     Ainsworth 

Pilot.      Cooper.    2  vols.,  each 

Path  Finder   "  " 

Precaution    "  **:  .       ; 

Pioneers        "  "  " 

Prairie  "  «  " 

Philosophy  of  Marriage.    Dr,  Ryan     ■•  •  50 


25 

25 

50 

-  i( 

25 

II 

K 

^0 

(i 
(I 

as 

25 
25 
12 


25 

(I 

(( 

50 

38 
25 

12 

25 

it 


12 


II 

12 
50 
25 


50 


12 

25 

11 

(I 

60 
25 


25 
<i 


50 

25 

II 

II 

41 


II 
II 


Pencillings  by  the  Way.  N.  P.  Willis. 
Written  during  some  years  of  travel 
abroad  *  .  ] 

Paul  Jones,  Life  and  Adventures  of 
Peter  Simple 
Punch's  Comic  Blackstone 

"       Medical  Student.    2  parts 
"      Letter  Writer    1     ,  ■,  ,  ■  ,.j 

"      Courtship  '■''  ;:\,l 

Dossay  Portraits  ,    ,  .,/,'^ 

Labors  of  Hercules 
"      Mytholc^  ■  " 

"      Peep  into  London  Society  " 

Peter  Ploddy  and  other  Oddities.  J.  C. 
Neale.  Or  second  series  of  "  Charcoal 
Sketches,"  with  illustrations  by  Dariey, 
«duced  to  '  50 

Pride  and  Prejudice,  a  Novel.    Miss 

Austen  25 

Pickings  from  the  Portfolio  of  the  Re- 

Sorter  of  the  New  Orleans  Picayune, 
plates  j  ., 

Pelham.    Bulwer 

Paul  Clifford  "  '  . 

Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine.    Bulwer 
President's  Daughter.    Miss  Bremer 
Prairie  Bird.    Murray  ;}•    i 

Peers  and  Parvenus.    Mrs.  Gore 
Parsonage  of  Mora.    Miss  Bremer 
Partisan,  The.    Simms 
Paul  Ulrick.    Mattison 
Pelayo ;  a  Story  of  the  G<lh.    Simms 
Philip  Augustus.    James 
Preferment ;    or.  My  Uncle  the  Earl. 

Mrs.  Gore 
Prince  and  the  Pedlar.    Miss  E.  Picker- 
ing 
Percival  Keene,    Marryatt  .      , 

Peter  Bunce.    Hook  , 

Peregrine  Pickle.    Smollet  ,  .;- 

Piquilla  Alliaga.    Scribe  ,      -■ ". 

Patrol  of  the  Mountains  ,   j,- 

Poor  Jack,    Marryatt  ;   ., 

Pickwick  Papers.    Dickens  j 

Philosopher's  Stone.     De  Balzac 
Pirate's  Own  Book 
Phantom  Ship,    Marryatt 
Pirate  and  the  Three  Cutters.    Marryatt      " 
Ctuadroone ;  or,  St.  Michael's  Day  50 

tluarter  Race  in  Kentucky,  and  other 
Tales.  By  the  Editor  of  the  "Big 
Bear  of  Arkansas"         ,  " 

Clueen  of  Denmark.    Mrs.  Gore  25 

Cluaker  City  of  the  Monks  of  Monk 

Hall  1  00 

Cluiet  Husband,  a  Novel,    Miss  Pick- 
ering 
Cluentin  Durward.    Sir  W.  Scott 
Red  Rover.    Cooper.    2  vols,,  each  " 

Red  Skins.  "-  "     v  « 

Rattlin  the  Reefer,    Howard  '' 

Rody  the  Rover;  or,  the  Ribbon  Man. 

Carleton  .    ,     ,..^ 

Regent's  Daughter.    Dumas         ..<,-•■■:• 
Rienzi,  the  Last  of  the  Tribunes.    Bul- 
wer .'*. 
Rose  d'Albret.    James                           rir,r-JBi 
Random  Shots.    L,  F,  Tasistro        .] /--.Jl 


99 

,  (( 

It 
12 

.13 
125 


8i 

90 

i< 
25 

<( 

..." 

100 

25 


25 
II 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


13 


Aoderick  Random.  Smollett.  25 
Rose  of  Persia ;  or,  Giafar  al  Barmek. 

Spring  50 

RoryO'More.    Lover    ;,,,  .  ..•...,.-:.'.  50 

Rupert  Sinclair                  '   .-        ;    .?  25 

Roger  Dutton.    Jame»  13 

Raffle  for  a  Wife  " 

Rose  of  Thistle  Island.    Mis»  Carkn  25 

Russell.    James  " 

Robber.        "  " 

Richelieu.    "  " 

Rookwood — Dick  Turpin.    Ainsworth  " 

Rise  of  Iskander.    D'lsraeli  " 

Spy.    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each  ** 

Satanstoe.  "  .  "  " 
Sir  Henry  Morgan.    By  the  "  Author  oC 

Rattlin  the  Reefer.  Howard"  " 
Sylvester  Sound.  Cockton  38 
Salamander.  Eugene  Sue  25 
St.  James;  or,  the  Court  of  dueen  Anne  " 
Sin  of  M.  Antoine.  George  Sand  50 
Sylvandire;  or,  the  Dissipated  Inheri- 
tance. Dumas  ^  " 
Sybil  Lennard ;  a  Record  of  Woman's 

Life.    Mrs.  Grey        .  25 
Sea  Snake ;  or,  the  Adventures  of  David 

Watson  " 
Secret  Tribunal.    Dumas  " 
Scenes  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  Ore- 
gon, Texas,  &c.  50 
Streaks    of    Squatter  Life.      Solitaire. 

With  Illustration^by  Darley  " 
Simon  Suggs,  another  Alabama  Sket- 
ches. With  illustrations  by  Darley  " 
Sol  Smith's  Theatrical  Apprenticeship  " 
Sybil,  a  Novel.  D'lsraeli  25 
Scourge  of  the  Ocean  '  " 
Self  Devotion.  Mrs.  Campbell  " 
Safia.  De  Beauvoir  12 
Self.  By  the  Author  of  Cecil  25 
Story  of  a  Royal  Favorite.  Mrs.  Gore  .  " 
Stepmother.  James  50 
Salmagundi.  Paulding  and  Irving  2  50 
Sheppard  Lee.  Written  by  himself  1  50 
Stories  of  the  Sea.  Captain  Marryat  37 
St.  Patrick's  Eve.  Lever  6 
Star  of  the  Fallen.  Curtis  25 
Splendors  of  Versailles.  Fortuol  " 
Snarley  Yow.  Marryat  " 
Squire.  Miss  Pickering  " 
String  of  Pearls.  James  " 
Sylvio  Pellico ;  or.  My  Prison  " 
Secret  Foe.  Miss  Pickering  " 
Son  of  a  Genius.  Mrs.  Hofland  31 
Sketches  of  Irish  Character.  Mrs.  Hall  3  50 
"  Everyday  Life.  Dickens  37 
Ten  Thousand  a  Year  50 
The  Two  Brides  25 
Tancred,  a  Novel.  D'lsraeli  " 
Triumphs  of  Time.    By  the  author  of 

"  Two  Old  Men's  Tales"  " 

Tales  from  the  G«rman  12 
The  Female  Minister  •  or,  the  Son's  Re- 

•  venge  " 
Tales  and  Novels.  Miss  Bremer  1  50 
Tales  and  Sketches.    Stone                      1  25 

Tom  Jones.     Fielding.  50 

Time  Works  Wonders.    Jerrold         ^  13 


Temptation  and  Atonement.    Mrs.  Grore  25 

Tower  of  London.    Akxsworth  50 

Travelling  Bachelor  " 
Thirty  Years  among  the  Players.    Joe 

Cowell  25 

Treasure  Trove ;  or,  LL.D.    Lover  " 

Therese  Dunoyer.    Sue  " 

Twins.    Miss  Bremer  12 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours,    Lever.  50 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather.     Scott.    Four 

series,  each  37 

Tom  Cringle's  Log  50 

Unloved  One.    Mrs.  Hofland  12 

Undine  and  Sintram.  50 

Unfortunate  Maid  13 

Valerie,  a  Tale.    Capt  Marryat  25 

Valentine  Vox.    Illustrated  75 

Venetia.    D'lsraeli  25 

Veronica.    Zlschokke  " 

Valentine  McClutchy.    Carleton  50 

Voice  from  the  Vintage.    Mrs.  Ellis  13 

Valcreuse.    Sandeau  38 

Virgin  of  the  Sun.    Ned  Buntiine  25 

Victim  of  Intrigue  " 

Vivian  Grey.    D'lsraeli  " 

Wyandotte^    Cooper.    2  vols.,  each  " 
Wept  of  Wish-ton-wish.      Cooper.     2 

vols.,  each  ** 
Water  Witch.  Cooper.  2  vols.,  each  " 
Wing  and  Wing^  "  "  " 
White  Slaves.  By  the  author  of  "  Re- 
velations of  Russia"  " 
White  Boy.  Mrs.  Hall  *» 
Wyoming  •* 
Wayside  Cross.  Millman  13 
Wandering  Jew.     Sue.     New  edition, 

with  over  500  illustrations.    2  vols.       1  00 
Wild  Sports  of  the  West.    W.  H.  Max- 
well 50 
Whom  to  Marry,  and  How  to  Gret  Mar- 
ried 25 
Wilson's  Tales  of  the  Borders.  In  parts, 

each  25 

Westward  Ho !   Paulding  " 
Woman    in    the   Nineteenth  Century. 

Mrs.  Fuller  50 
Whipisicalities.  Hood  50 
Wagner  the  Wehr  Wolf.  Reynolds  " 
Wilfulness  of  Woman  25 
Waggeries  and  Vagaries.  W.  E.  Bur- 
ton, Comedian.  With  original  de- 
signs by  Darfcy  50 
Whispers  to  a  Newly  Married  Pair  13 
Wondrous  Tale  of  Alroy  25 
Waverly  Novels  complete.  5  vols  2  50 
Waverly  Prose  Works.  5  vols.  2  50 
Warwick  Woodlands.  Herbert  2t) 
Who  Shall  be  Heir  1  Miss  Pickering  " 
Wild  Love,  a  Romance  " 
Wild  Western  Scenes  50 
White  Boy.  Mrs.  Hall  25 
Yankee  Stories  •  50 
Youth  of  Shakspeare  " 
Year  of  Consolation.  Mrs.  Butler  75 
Young  Duke.  D'lsraeli  25 
Young  Kate ;  or,  the  Rescue  " 
I  Yemassee.  W.  G.  Simms  " 
IZanoni.    Bolwer  50 


■■*■ 


-^ 


tl4 


M  ■  k\ 


SntlNGER  &  Co.'ft 


HISTORY  AND    BIOQRAPHY.^^^^^^^ 


Annals  at  America,  ltf]»-l(j96.    Abiel 
-     Holmes.    2  vols.  43  50 

Andrew  Jackson,  Life  of.    C6U)ett  37 

Allison's  History  of  Europe.  4  vols.  5  00 
Athens ;  Its  Rise  and  Fall.  BuJwer  1  25 
Addison's  Life  of  Miss  Aiken  50 

American  Encyclopedia,  brought  up  to 

1847.  14  vols.  90  00 
Supplementary  vol.,   14th,    to 

complete  previous  sets  2  00 

American  Revolution.    Blake  3T 

American  Biography.      Jared  Spatics. 

10  vols,  each  75 
Arnold's  History  of  Rome.  2  rols.  5  00 
Later  Commonwealth.    4  vols.     2  50 


Life  and  Correspondence.  4  vols.  2  00 


Burr's  Private  Journal.'  2  vols. 

British  Statesmen,  Lives  of.    FOTster 

Byron's  Life.    Gait 

Biography,  Sacred.    Hunter 

British  America,  History  of 

Brougham  on  the  French  Revolution 

Balboa,  Cortes,  and  Pizarro,  LWes  of 

Barrow's  Life  of  Peter  the  Great 

Belknap's  American  Biography.  3  vols. 

Bell's  Life  of  Canning 

Bonaparte,  Court  and  Camp  of 

Boswell's  Johnson.    Croker 

Buck's  Ruins  of  Ancient  Cities.   2  vols. 

Bunner'  History  of  Louisiana 

Burr's  Private  Journal.    2  vols. 

Bancroft's  History  of  the  United  States. 
3  vols. 

Brougham  on  Instinct 

Bastille,  History  of,  and  its  Principal 
Captives 

Brougham's  Lives  of  Men  of  Letters  and 
Science 

Camp  Life  of  a  Volunteer;. or,  a  Cam- 
paign in  Mexico 

Commodores,  Generals,  and  other  Com- 
manders of  the  American  Forces.   42 


50 
125 
37. 

1  75 
87 
50 
37 
50 

135 
50 
50 

2  75 
100 

50 
450 

00 
25 

50 


50 
25 


350 


engravmgs 

Chalmers'  History  of  the  American  Co- 
lonies. 2  vols.  , 

Campaign  with  Col«iel  Dcniphan 

Cranmer,  Life  of        . 

Canning,  Life  oL    Bell 

Calhoun,  Life  of.      "         . 

Columbus,  Life  o£    Irving 

Charlemagne 

Caesar's  Commentaries 

Campbell's  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lors. 
First  Series.   3  vols. 
Second  Series,    2  vols. 

Coit's  History  of  Puritanism  1 

Coleridge,  Detters,  Conversations,  and 
Recollections  of 

Columbus  and  Vespucius,  Lives  of 

Crichton's  and  Wheaton's  Scandinavia, 
Ancient  and  Modem,   t  vols.  1 

Crockett's  Eccentricities 

Crowe's  History  of  France.    3  vols.  1  75 

Celejvated  Dramatists,  Lives  of.  2  vols.    50 


3  00 
50 

100 
50 
12 
25 
50 
87 


5  00 
3  50 
1  50 

25 
37 

GO 
60 


Cunningham's  Lives  of  Emiaeot  Paint- 
ers.   5  vols.  i 
Duchess  D'Abrantes,  lAfe  of 
Davis's  History  of  China.  •S  vols. 
Distinguished  Females,  Lives  of 

Men  of  Modem  Times 

Dover^s  (Lord)  Lile  of  Frederick  the 

Great    2  vols. 
Dunlap's  History  of  the  State  of  New 

York.    2  vols. 
D  wight's  History  of  Connecticut 
Lives  of  the  Signers  of  the  De- 
claration of  Independence 
Eyre's,  Lieut,  Military  Narrative 
Emmett,  Life  of  "   "  * 
Eraser's  Historical  and  Descriptive  Ac- 
count of  Persia 
Eraser's  History  of  Mesopotamia  and 

Assyria 
Frederick  the  Great,  Life  ot.    Campbell 
Fenelon's  Lives  of  Ancient  Philosi-phers 
Ferguson's  History  of  the  Roman  Re- 
public 
Fletcher's  History  of  Poland        "  ' 
Forster's  Lives  of  British  Statesmen 
Francis's  Orators  of  the  Age 
Franklin's  Life  Illustrated 

by  himself.    2  vols 

Goethe's  Autobiography    2  vols. 
Glass's  Life  of  Washinpon,  in  Latin 
Gleig'sHistory  of  the  Bible.    2  vols. 


ff  ■ 


2( 


Godwin's  Lives  of  the  Necromancers  , 
Grattan's  History  of  the  Netherlands 
General  Taylor  and  His  Staff,  with  Me- 
moirs of  his  Distinguished  Officers       1 
Great  Britain,  Social  History  of.    God- 
win 1 
Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 

Empire,  Edited  by  Milman.    4  vols.    5 
Guizot's  History  of  the  Great  Revolution 

in  England  in  1640.    2  vols.  1 

Guizot's  Civilization  in  Europe  1 

Henry  IV.  of  France,  Life  ofl    James. 

2  vols.  2 
Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  Eng- 
land 2 

Hallam's  Europe  during  the  Middle 
Ages  .  2 

Hallam's  Literature  of  Europe  during 
the  15th,   16th,  and   17th    Centuries, 

3  vols.  3 
Hallam's  Historical  Works;  comprising 

the  above.    4  vols.,  uaiibrmly  bound 
in  sheep  extra  ^  7 

History  of  Germany  .   Kc  i  >-.        j 

Hall's  United  States  v-'' 

History  of  Chivalry.    James       *'•'  ' 
History  of  Congress,  1TJ9-1795  1 

History  of  America,    In /parts,  each 
Henry  s  Epitome  of  the  History  of  Phi- 
losophy 
Herbdotus's  General    History,     Beloe. 

3  vols,  1 

Howe's  Lives  of  Eminent  Mechanics 
Hihiter's  Sacred  Biography  1 


( 


£ 


Z 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


IS 


Henry  Clay,  Life  oC    2  vols.  2  00 

Ingersoll's  History  of  the  Second  War 
between  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States,— 1813  «•....  *i..>  200 

IrvBig's  Life  of  Columbus  -    -        lyg 

Iceland,  Greenland,  and  the  Faroe  Islands  45 
Ireland,  History  of.  McGeoghegan  2  50 
Joe  Cowell,  Comedian,  Life  of  25 

Josephine,  Empress,  Memoirs  of  50 

James's  Life  a  Charlemagne  45 

James's  History  erf  Chival^  and  the  Cru- 
saders " 
Jameson's   (Mrs.)   Celebrated   Female 

Sovereigns  80 

Jcdmson's  Life  and  Select  Works  " 

Josephus's  Complete  Works.  2  yds.  2  50 
JeflersoD,  Life  oif  25 

Kings  (rf  Prance,    14  plates  1  50 

Kei^Uy's  History  of  Englsuid.    5  vols.  2  50 
Louis  XIV.  and  the  Court  of  Frfince. 
.   MissPardoe.    Plates.    9  vols.  3  50 

Lamartine's  History  of  the  Girondists. 

Vols,  each  70 

Lockhart's  Napoletm  87 

Lanman's  History  of  Michigan  45 

Lee  (Mrs.)  Life  of  Baron  Cuvier  25 

Le  Bias's  Life  of  Cranmer.    2  vois.  1  00 

Le  Bas's  Life  of  Wickliff  50 

Liever's  Great  Events  75 

Livy's  History  of  Rome.    5  vols.  2  25 

Mackintosh's  History  of  England  1  50 

Moore's  History  of  Ireland.  2  vols.  2  50 
Milman's  History  of  me  Jews  1  25 

"  "  Christianity  2  00 

Mosheim's  Ecclesiastical  History.  3  vols.  3  50 
Mary'CLueen  of  Scots,  Life  of  87 

Michelet's  History  of  France.   2  vols.,ea.  25 
"         Elements  of  Modern  History     45 
"         History  of  the  Roman  Repub- 
lic 50 
Manual  of  History.    W.  Cooke  Taylor  2  25 
Moore's  Letters  and  Journal  of  Liord  By- 
ron.   2  vols.                                        2  75 
Muller's  History  of  the  World.    4  vols.  3  00 
Murray's  Historical  Account  of  British 
America.    2vcds.                                   90 

"  "  "  British 

India  1 50 

Naval  History  of   the  United   States. 


2  vols,  in  one 
History  of  Rome. 


5  parts, 


175 


500 


Cooper. 
Niebuhr's 

each 
Napoleon's  Militaiy  Maxims 
Navigators,  Early  Lives  of 
Napier's  Peninsular  War.    4  vds. 
"  "  1  vol. 

Napoleon,  Pictorial  History   oL 

plates  and  20  portraits 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  Life  of 
Nelson's  Life.    Southey 
Our  Arniv  at  Monterey 
Our  Arniy  on  the  Rio  Grande 
Oregon  and  Califcwfiia,  History  of 
Overland  Journey  Round  the  World,  by 

Sir  G.  Simpson.  .^  ■*  1  "75 

Oregon,  History  of.    Map  50 

Pictorial  History  of  England.    Plates. 

In  parts,  each  25 


00 

50 

45 

600 

3  00 

3  00 

50 

(( 

50 
SO 
2  50 


ings. 

(I 


mgs, 
(( ■ 


Popes,  History  of  the.     De  Cormenin. 
With  colored  engravings  5 

Another  edition  without  engravings.    3 
Popes,  Ranke's  History  of  the  1 

Prescott's  Conquest  cif  Peru.    Engrav- 

2  vols.  4 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  3  vols.  6 
Conquest  of  Mexico.    Engrav- 

3  vols.  6 
Biographical  and  Critical  Mis- 
cellanies 2 

Paul  Jones,  Lijfe  oi.    Mackenzie  1 

Paulding's  Life  of  Wa^i^on,    2  vols. 
Qjueens  of  France.    2  vols.  2 

Reformation  in  (Jermany,  History  of      1 
Robertson's  Historical  Works.  8  vols.    5 
"         "  Historical  Wcwks.   3  vols.   5 
«  Charles  V.  I 

•*  History  of  Scotland  1 

"  History  of  America  1 

Rollin's  Ancient  History.   2  vols.  3 

Russell's  History  of  Abyssinia 
"        Barbary  States 
^    "        Polynesia 
"        Palestine 
Rush's  Court  of  London,  1819-1^         2 
Rowan's  History  of  the  French  tIcvoIu- 

tion.    2  vols. 
Russell's  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell 
Recollections  of  the  United  States  Army 
Southey 's  Life  of  John  Wesley,  2  vols.    2 
Spalding's  History  of  Italy.    3  vols.         1 
Segur's  History  of  the  .Expedition  to. 

Russia.    2  vols. 
Sallnst's  History  of  the  Jugurthine  War 
Strickland's  Lives  erf  the  Clueens  of  Eng- 
land, from  the  Norman  Conquest  to 
the  present  day.    V(^s.  each  1 

Schiller's  Life.    T.  Carlyle 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  Life  of     Campbell    . 
Sismwidi's  Italian  Republic  1 

Sibome's  Historv  of  the  War  in  Bel- 
gium, 1815     "  2 
Schiller's  History  of  the  Thirty  Years' 

War 
Stone's  Border  Wars  of  the  American 

Revolution.    3  vols. 
Taylor's,  Gen.  Zachary,  Life  o£    New 

edition.    Portrait  and  illastrati<»is 
Thirlwall's  History  of  Greece.    2  vols.    3 
Thiers'  History  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion.   4  v6ls.  complete  in  2  3 
Tytler's  Universal  History.    6  vols.         2 
Turkish   and    Spanish    Empires,    l6th 


00 
00 
50 

00 
00 

00 

00 
00 
90 
00 
00 
DO 
00 
75 
75 
75 
50 
50 


50 

75 
90 
31 
00 
35 

90 
40 


Century.     Ranke.    2  parts,  each  1 

Trumbull's  Autobiography  2 

Taylor's  History  of  Ireland.    2  vols. 

"        Modern  British  Plutarch 
Thatcher's  American  Revolution 
Tracts  of  the  Boston  Tea  Party 
Thucydides.    W.  Smith,  AM. 
•United    States    Elxploring    Expedition, 

1838-42.    5  vds.  each  2 

Vidocq,  Memoirs  of  '  '     ' 

Washington  and  His  American  Grene- 

rals.     16  plates  3 

Writings  of  Washington.    Jared  Sparks. 

8  vols,  each  1 


75 
50 
75 
75 

50 

50 

90 

25 
50 

00 

75 

00 
00 
90 
SO 
35 
62 
90 

00 
50 

I" 

00* 
50 


■^: 


•»«■ 


M 


STRINGER,  &  Co.  s 


Wickliffe,  Life  of  '  .  ~ 

Wiaxall's  Historical  Memoirs  2 

"        Postliumous  Memoirs  2 

Walpole's  Letters  and  Memoirs.  4  vols. 
"  Suppressed  Letters,  1760-1785 
"        George  the  Third  2 

Washington's  Orders  1 

"Life 


50 
00 
50 


50 
50 
25 


Whewell's  History  of  the  Inductive  Sci- 
ences 1 

Waddington's  History  of  the  Chorcb       1 

Wilson's  Lives  of  Wonderful  Characters  1 

Wellington,  Life  of 

Xenophon's  History  of  the  Expedition  of 
Cirrus  .  ■,.  V    ~  ••• 


m  ■ 

73 
96 
85 


POETRY  AND   THE    DRAMA. 


J 


American  Poets,  Gems  from  37 

Bryant's  Poems.    21  plates         ^'  6  00 

Burns's  Poems.     32  plates  1  25 

Byron's  Poetical    Works.      Numerous 

plates  2  50 

Biyant's  Selections  from  American  Poets  45 

Bulwer's  Lady  of  Lyoas  40 

"        Life  and  Poems  of  Schiller  -90 

"        Sea  Captain ;  or,  the  Birthright   20 

'•        Richelieu ;  a  Play 

Cowper's  Tasl*    10  plates  2  00 

Childe  Harold.     11  plates  3  50 

Campbell's  Poetical  Works.     Portrait 

and  12  plates  S  00 

Cowper's  Complete  Poetical  Works       1  50 
Crabbe's  Works  2  00 

Chaucer,  complete 
€hild  of  the  Islands.    Mrs.  Norton 
Dante.    H.  F.  Carey.    Engravings   ""     1 
Euripides'  Tragedies.     Potter.    3  vols.  1 
Eschylus's  Tragedies.    Potter 
Ford  s  Dramatic  Works.    2  vols. 
Halleck's  Poems.     7  plates  3 

Hemans'   Complete    Poetical    Works. 

7  vols.  5  00 

Another  Edition.    2  vols.  2  50 

Heroines  of  Shakspeare.  45  engravings  9  00 
Homer.    Pope 
Halleck's   Alnwick    Castle   and   other 


25 
60 
30 
45 

85 
50 


Poems  1 

"        Fanny,  and  other  Poems  1 

"        Seleclions  from  British  Poets 

Hoffman's  Poems,  complete 

Hora'ce  and  Phedrus.    Smart    2  vols. 

Hactenus.  By  the  author  of  "  Proverbial 
Philosophy" 

Goldsmith's  Poems.    Plates  2 

Italian  Poets.    Leigh  Hunt  1 

Ingoldsby  Legends  of  Mirth  and  Marvel. 
7  plates  by  Leech 

James's  Blanche  of  Navarre ;  a  Play 

Juvenal  and  Persius'    Satires.      Bad- 
ham  and  Sir  W.  Drummdnd 

Keate's  Life  and  Poems,  hitherto  unpub- 
lished.   R.  M.  Mikies  2 

Longfellow's  Poems,  complete 


12 
12 
90 
25 
90 

25 
50 
37 

50 
2S 

45 


50 


Complete 

350 
120  engrav- 
1 
Numerous 
4 
Pocket  edition 


25 

00 
38 


Evangeline 


"  Poems.    11  plates 

"  Poets  of  Europe 

Lalla  Rookh,     13  plates 
Lady  of  the  Lake.     10  plates 
Lores  of  the  Poets.    Mrs.  Jameson 


50 
50 
75 
5  00 
3  75 
5  00 
5  00 
75 


Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads 
L.   £.   L.,    Miss   Landon's 

Works.    2  vols. 
Milton's  Poetical  Works, 

ings 
Moore's  Poetical  Works, 

engravings 
Moore's  Irish  Melodies, 

"      Lalla  Rookh. 
Milton,  complete.    Pocket  edition,  G  en- 
gravings 1 
Massinger's  Dramatic  Works.    3  vols.   1 
Morgan's,  Lady,  Dramatic  Scenes  from 

Real  Life.    2  vols. 
Ovid's    Metamorphoses   abd    Epistles. 

2  vols. 
Poets  and  Poetry  of  England.    Plates 
"  of  the  Ancients     "  , 

"  America  " 

"  Europe 

Poetical  duotations.  New  Dictionary  of  1 
Pope's  Complete  Poetical  Works  1 

Poetical  Works  of  Milton,  Thompson, 

and  Young  1 

Poetical  Works  of  Beattie  and  Collins    1 
Poe's  Raven,  and  other  Poems 
Pollok's  Course  of  Time.  Pocket  edition 
Pindar  and  Anacreon's  Odes 
Rogers'  Poems.    Illustrated 
Reliques  of  Ancient    English 

Bishop  Percy 
Records  of  the  Heart.    Lewis 
Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake 

"      Marmion 

"      Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 

"      Poetical  Works.    6  engravings 
Shakspeare's  Dramatic  Works.    John 

son,  Stevens,  and  Reed.    6  vols. 
"     Another  Edition,  by  Singer  and 

Symmons  2  50 

Sigourney's  Pocahontas 
Sophocles'  Tragedies  :  l>.u: 

Select  Poems,  by  Mrs.  L.  EL  Sigoumey, 

Plates  2 

Shakspeare  (Harpers')  Illustrated.    1400 
.engravings.    3  vols.  ^ 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe 

"       Another  Edition.    3  vols. 
Specimens  of  British  Poets.    Campbell 
Southey's  Poetical  Works  '  .      . 

"        Mrs.      "  ■      :    \ 

Thompson's  Seasons.    77  plates 


Poetry. 


2S 
30 

90 


90 
300 


5  00 
00 
00 

00 
00 
31 
38 
45 
50 

75 
00 


690 


S^ 


50 


'18  00 


00 
50 
50 


St 

275 


f  CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


17 


Thompson's  Seasons.    Pocket  edition       38  [  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered 
rhou^tB  on  the  Poet&  ,,....       50 1  tVillis's  Poems.    17  plates 


"F 


U'-i-  '' 


'..  i^: 


'=M'i--A'Mf^.'*-, 


VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS. 


100 
500 


Anthon's  Pilgrimage  to  Treves  75 

Attowan ;  or,  Life  and  Adventures  in  the 

Rocky  Mountains.    3  vols  125 

Adventures  in  Mexico  and  the  Rocky 

Mountains.     Ruxton.     2  vols.  50 

Barrow's  Description  of  Pltcairn  Island      50 

"        Voyages  to  the  Arctic  Regions    50 

"      •Travels  in  Cabool  25 

Browne's  Etchings  of  a  Whaling  Cruise  2  00 

Buckii^ham's  America.    2  vols.  3  50 

Coke's  Subaltern's  Furlough.    2  vols,         75 

CoUon's  Four  Years  in  Great  Britain         90 

Couke's  Voyages  Round  the  World  50 

Dana's  Two  Years  before  the  Mast  50 

•Darwin's  Voyage  of  a  Naturalist.  2  vols.  1 00 

Davenport's  Perilous  Adventures  45 

De  Hay's  Sketches  of  Turkey  2  00 

Drake,      Cavendish,     and     Dampier's 

Voyages  50 

Durbm's  Observations  in  Europe.  2  vols,  2  00 
"        Travels  in  the  East.    2  vols.    2~~ 
Dwighi's  Summer  Tours 
Ellis's  Polynesian  Researches.    4  vols.    2 
Emerson's  Letters  from  the  Egeau 
Fisk's  Travels  in  Europe 


Flagg's  Travels  in  the  Far  West 


00 
38 
50 
75 
25 
50 
50 
00 


Farnham's  Life  in  Prairie  Land 
Grant's  Nestorians ;  or,  the  Lost  Tribes  1 
Green's  Journal  of  the  Texan  Expedition  2  00 
Haight's  Letters  from  the  Old  World, 

2  vols.  1 

Head's,  Sir  George,  Manufacturing  Dis- 
tricts of  England  1 
Head's,  Sir  F.,  Life  and  Adventures  of 

Bruce 
Hoffman's  Winter  in  the  West,    2  vols.  1 
Humboldt's  Travels  and  Researches 
Ingraham's  South  West.    2  vols.  1 

Jacob's  Scenes,  Incidents,  and  Adven- 
tures in  the  Pacific  Ocean  1 
Jameson's  Discoveries  and  Adventures 
in  Africa 

"         Visits  and  Sketches  at  Home 
and  Abroad.     2  vols.  1 

Kohl's  Travels  in  Russia 
"  •  ,  Austria 
"  Iceland 

Kohl's  England  and  Wales. 
Kay's  Ti  avels  and  Researches  in  Cali- 
fornia 

Kendall's  Narrative  of  the  Santa  Fe  Ex- 
pedition.   2  vols.  2  50 
Keppel's  Expedition  to  Borneo  50 
Lannian's  Tour   to   the  Saguenay  in 
Lower  Canada  50 


75 

12f 

50 
50 
50 
50 

25 

50 

00 
25 


86 


Xiatrobe's  Rambler  in  Mexico 

"  in  North  America 

Lander's  Travels  in  Africa 
Leslie's  Discoveries  in  the  Polar  Seas 
Lewis  and  Clarke's  Travels  beyond  the 

Rocky  Mountains.    2  vols. 
Mackenzie'!?  American  in  England 
Marryat's  Travels  of  Monsieur  Violet 
Marvel's  Fresh  Gleanings 
Melville's  Omoo 
Miller's  Condition  of  Greece 
.Morgan's,  Lady,  France 
Morrell's  Voyage  to  the  South  Seas 
Mott's  Travels  in  Europe  and  the  East 
New  Orleans  as  I  found  it 
Olin's  Travels  in  the  Holy  Land 

plates.    2  vols. 
Owen's  Voyages  to  Africa.    2  vols. 


12 


Park's  Travels  in  Africa 


3& 

1  m 

loa 

50 

1  00 

sa 

13 

100 

100 

37 

70 

6-3 

190 

25 

2  50 
1  12 

50 

Parrott's  Journey  to  Mount  Ararat  50 

Parry's  Voyages  to  the  North  Pole.  2  vols.  1  00 
Perils  of  the  Sea  35 

Polo's,  Marco,  Travels  45 

Porter's  Constantinople  and  its  Environs  1  50 
Reynolds's  Voyage  of  the  Frigate  Poto- 
mac 3  25 
Reynolds's  Pacific  and  Indian  Oceans     1  50 
Robert's  Embassy  to  the  Eastern  Courts 

ofSiam  1 

Sale's,  Lady,  Journal  of  Disasters  in  kS- 

ghanistan 
Sargent's  American  Adventures  by  Land 

and  Sea        •  1 

Schroeder's  Shores  of  the  Mediterranean, 

2  vols.  1 

Siebold's  Manners  and  Customs  of  the 

Japanese 
Smith's  Consular  Cities  of  China  1 

Stephens's  Travels  in  Central  America, 
2  vols,  5  00 

"        Incidents  of  Travel  in  Yuca- 
tan,   2  vols.  5  00 

"        Travel*  in  Greece,  Turkey, 
Russia,  and  Poland  1 

"        Egypt,  Arabia  Petrea,  and  the 
Holy  Land.    2  vols.  1 

Sweden,  Travels  in.      Countess  Hahn 

Hahn 
Tytler's  Northern  Coast  of  America 
Uncle  Philip's  Whale  Fishery 
Voyages  Round  the  World 
Wolff's  Narrative  of  a  Mission  to  Bok- 
hara 2  00 
Wrangell's  Expedition  to  Siberia,  Polar 
Seas,  &c.  45 


75 


12 

00 

75 

50 
00 


75 

75 

12 
45 
70 
45 


%^ 


«: 


If 


■!■>' 


'STBINGMl  tc  Co.% 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


»>'«t  .'<«kVv?    "'^ 


ij  A^  «i,tfi'^tvu 


7  50 

75 

2  00" 

50 

12 

80 

14  00 

1  se 

59 
■2  75 
:5  00 
$00 


Amber  WitcK    Prom  the  German  38 

Addison's  Complete  Works.    3  vols.       -3  50 
American  Biography.      Sparks.     Por 

traits,  &c.    10  vols. 
Angler's  Almanack  for  1848 
Abercrombie's  Intellectual  Power 
Agricultural  Chemistry.    Chaptal 
American  Shepherd 
Arnold's  Miscellaneous  Works 
Arts  and  Miseries  of  Gambling 
Art  of  Letter  Writing 
Bubbles  from  the  Br unnens  of  Nassau 
British  Essayists.    8  vols. 
Boy's  Treasury  of  Sports.    400  engs. 
Beckford's  Italy,  Spain,  and  Portugal 
Boswell's  Life  of  Johnstm 
Burke's  Complete  Works.    3  vols.    ' 
Browne's  Press  of  America 
Brande's  Encyclopedia  of  Art,  Science, 

Literature,  &c.  4  06 

Bacon's,  Lord,  Works.   3  vols.  7  SO 

Bolingbroke's,  Lord,  Works.    4  vols.        6  00 
Burns ;    His   Genias   and    Character, 

P.  Wilson, 
■Children's  Years,    Mary  Howitt 
"Crock  of  Gold.    Tupper 
"Charles  Lamb's  Essays  of  Elia 
"  Dramatic  Poets 

Carlyle's  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship 
"        Sartor  Resartus 
"        Past  and  Present 
"        History  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion 67 
"      Cromwell's  Letters  and  Speeches  SO 
Coleridge's  Biographia  Literaiia             I  50 
•Cards  of  Destiny 

Cockney  in  America  25 

Comic  Nursery  Tales.    Plates  75 

Cook's  Oracle.    Kitchener  1  00 

Celestial  Scenery.    Dick         .  50 

Chesterfield's  Complete  Works  175 

Charles  Lamb's  Works.    2  vols.  2  00 

Connexion  of  the  Physical  Sciences  50 

Complete  Florist  25 

Complete  Cook.    700  Receipts  " 

Complete  Confectioner,  &c.  25 

Catlin's  North  American  Indians.  2  vols.  6  50 
Coleridge's  Miscellany.    Professor  Reed 


M 

25 

38 
(( 

M 

i( 

II 
75 


2  26 
2  00 
25 

25 

(I 

38 
50 
38 


Cooley's  Book  of  Useful  Knowledge 

"      The  American  in  Egypt 
Diary  of  Lady  Willoughby 
Dickens's  Battle  of  Life 

"        Cricket  on  the  Hearth 

•* '      Chinaes  and  Carols 

"        Dombey  &  Son 

*•        Pictures  from  Italy 
Dictionary  of  the  English  Language. 

Richardson.    2  vols.  12 

Disgrace  of  the  Family  "25 

Domestic  Economy.    Miss  Beecker  75 

Dryden's  Works.    2  vols.  3  75 

Endless  Amusements  75 , 

Edgeworth's  Complete  Works.    10  vols. 

each  75 

Engineer's  and  Mechanic's  Pocket  Book  1  25 


3  59 

5  50 

3  50 

50 
« 

38 


25 
100 
150 
50 
75 
1  00 
150 
.  75 

50 

.25 

50' 

2S 
38 


Encyclopedia  of  Domestic  Economy 

"  "Chemistry 

Ewbank's  Hydraulics  and  Mechanics 
Ellis's,  Mrs.,  Women  of  England 
"  Mothers  «f  England 

French  in  Algiers 
French  Gentleman,  Adventures  oC  Plates  37 
Fremont's  Ejqploring  Expedition  to  Ore- 
gon and  California 
Farmer's  Companion  and  Instructor 
Farmer's  Dictionary 

*'        Manual.    FaUsner    .    . 
"       Treasure 
"        Handbook.    MarshaH 
Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs  • 

Gdeig'«  History  of  the  BUde 
Gammer  Gurtoa's  Story  Bo<3^    H  vols. 

each 
Great  Metropolis,  New  York  Araiual. 

Map 
Gambling    Unmasked.      J,  H.  Green. 

Plates 
Heads  and  Tales  of  Travels  and  Travel- 
ling.   E.  L.  Blanchard 
Hazlitt's  Table  Talk 

"  "         Second  Series  <« 

**  Literature  of  Clueen  Elizabeth  50 
•*  Life  of  Napoleon.  3  vols.  3  00 
■**  CharacterofShakspeare's  Plays  56 
"        Comic  Writers  of  England  " 

'•       English  Poets  *' 

"        Spirits  of  the  Age 
Headlong  Hall  and  Nightmare  Abbey 
Hochelaga;  or,  England  in  the  New 

World 
Half  Hours  with  the  Be^  Authors.    C. 

Knight  1 25 

Hood's  Prose  and  Verse  38 

Homes  and  Haunts  ef  the  British  Poels. 

W.  Howitt.    2  vols.  3  00 

Howitt^  History  of  Priestcraft  62 

Hannah  More's  Works.    2  vols.  2  50 

Hoyle's  Games  >  .  ..41 

Heads  of  the  People.    6  Plates  (K^ 

High  Life  in  New  York.    Jonathan  Slick  25 
Indians  of  North  America.    Plates  100 

Johnsotfs  Complete  Works  2  00 

Inaaginary    Conversations    and    other 
Writings.    Waiter  Savage  Landor     1 
Journey  from  Cwnhill  to  Cairo 
Jamieson's,  Mrs,,  Memoirs  and  Essays 
Illustrative  of  Art,  Literature,  and  So- 
cial MOTals  » 
Journals  of  Major  Samuel  Shaw,  Ame- 
rican Consul  at  Canton  2  50 
Jamaica,  Past  and  Present 
Kaowlson's  Complete  Horse  Farrier 
"             "           Cattle  Doctor 
Kingslake's   Eodien  5   or,    Traces   of 

Travels 
Kitchen  and  Fruit  Garden 
Knickerbocker  Sk«^tch  Book 
Leigh  Hunt's  Imagination  and  Fancy 
"  Indicator 

**  Italian  Poets 


38 
38 


50 
38 


38 


50 
25 


«0 

m 

50 


38 


CATAIXKJUE  OF  BOOKS. 


19 


•M 


Leigh  Hunt's  Wit  and  Humor 
Xaman  Blauchard's  Sketches 
Local  Loiterings 
Lover's  Irish  Stories 

«      Songs  and  Ballads 
Liebig's  Familiar  Letters  on  Chemistry 
Letters  from  Italy.     Headley 
Letter  Writing  Simplified 
Lardner's  Lectures.    Numbers,  each 
Memoirs  of  Father  Ripa 
Mary  Howitt's  Ballads 
Mysteries  of  the  Three  Cities 
Miller's  Boys'  Own  Books,    Plates.    < 

vols.,  each 
Masterman  Ready ;   or,  the  Wreck 

the  Pacific.    Cfapt.  Marryat,    3  vols. 

in  one 
Middle  Kingdom ;  or,  China  Illustrated. 

With  map 
Midsummer  Eve :  a  Fairy  Tale  of  Love. 

Mrs.  Hall 
Matteuci's  Lectures  on  the  Physical  For- 
mation of  Living  Beings 
MaccuUoch's    Commercial   Dictionary. 

2  vols. 
Modern  B  ritish  Essayists.    Comprising, 

1  Writings  of  Macauley 


of 


50 
38 
37 


00 
50 
12 
25 
38 
50 
25 

37 


75 


25 


7  50 


2  "  Alison 

3  "  Sydney  Smith 

4  "  Piof.  Wilson     .  1 

5  "  Jefireys  1 

6  "  Carlvle 

7  "  Talfourd  and  Stephens   1 
Marston ;  or,  Memoirs  of  a  Statesman 
Morse's  Geography 

Man  of  Feeling,  and  other  Works.  Mac- 
kenzie 1 
Murray's  Encyclopedia  of  Greography. 

3  vols.,  1900  pages 
Mrs.  Perkins's  Ball.    Thackeray 
Men,  Women,  and  Books.    Leigh  Hunt 
Noctes  Ambrosianae.    4  vols.  4 

Ollendorff's  New  Grerman  Grammar      1 
Old  Continental.    Paulding.    2  vols. 
Philosophy  in  Sport  made  Science  in 
Earnest.    lOO  engravings  1 

Peru,  Travels  in ;  1838-42.  VonSchudi 
Prose  Writers  of  America.   R.  W.  Gris- 
wold  4 

Past,  Present,  and  Future.    H.  Carey     1 
Progress  of  America;  a  Pocket  Com- 
panion for  Politicians  and  Travellers 
Proverbial  Philosophy.    Tupper 
Pictorial  Bible,  Harpers'.     In  various 

bindings 
Paley's  Theology 

"       Evidences  of  Christianity 
Plutarch's  Lives  1 


00 

25 

(( 

00 
75 

K 

00 
50 


25 


50 
50 
50 
75 

50 
38 

00 
50 

25 
50 


87 
37 
50 


Rhine.    Victor  Hugo 
Robinson  Crusoe.     Illustrated.     50  en- 
gravings, by  Adams 
Robert  Hall's,  Rev.,  Complete  Works. 


4  vols. 

Recreations  of  Christopher  North 

Rural  Life  in  Germany.    Howitt 

Rocky  Mountains.    Irving 

Rhyming  Dictionary.    Walker 

Reformers  before  the  Reformation 

Roman  Traitor,  a  True  Tale  of  the  Re- 
public.   Herbert    2  vols. 

Spaniards  and  their  Country. .  R.  Ford 

Sacred  Mountains.    Headley.    Engrav- 
ings 

Snow  Storm.    Mrs.  Gore  ] 

Sidereal  Heavens.    Dick 

Sears's  Wonders  of  the  World 
"      Pictorial  Bible 

Tristram  Shandy.     New  edition,  with 
illustrations 

Typee ;  or,  a  Residence  in  the  Marque- 
sas.   Melville.    2  parts 

Thousand  Lines.    Tupper 

Texas  Rangers'    Scoutmg   Expedition. 
S.  C.  Reed 

Traditions  and  Fairy  Legends  of  Ireland. 
Crofton  Croker 

Tales  and  Sketches  of  the  United  States 
Army         •• 

Vanity  Fair.    Thackeray 

Vestiges  of  the  Natural  History  of  Cre- 
ation 

"        Sequel  to 

Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Pictorial 

Views  and  Reviews  of  American  History 
and  Literature.    G.  Simms 

Webster's    Encyclopedia   of  Domestic 
Economy 

Worcester's  Universal  and  Critical  Die 
tionary  of  the  English  Language 

Webster's  Dictionary,  unabridged,  in  1 
vol.,  4to.    New  edition 

Wilderness  and  War  Path 

Wieland ;  or,  the  Transformation 

Wild  Sports  of  Europe.    Col.  Napier 

Western  Clearings.    Mrs.  Kirkland 

Whimsicalities.     Hood 

Whims  and  Oddities.    Hood 

Ure's  Dictionary  of  Arts.  One  thick  vol. 
"     Supplement  to 

Universal  Gazetteer.    McCuUoch 

Yankee  Stories.     Haliburton 

Youatt  on  the  Horse 
«        The  Pig 
The  Dog 


38 

87 

6  00 
00 
50 
00 

50 

50 

38 


100 

50 

2  50 

2  00 

50 

75 
55 

50 

50 

36 
50 

75 
50 
72 

37 

3  50 


6  00 
50 
25 
50 


5  00 
150 

6  50 
50 

50 
50 


Zincali;  or,  Gipsies  of  Spain.    Burrows  1  25 


»^«4« 


NOVELS  OP  J.  FENNIMORE  COOPER. 


Miles  Wallingford 
Satanstoe 
The  Spy 
The  Pilot 


60 
50 


The  Water-Wit^ 
The  Red  Rover 
Wing-and-Wing 
Lionel  Lincoln 


SO 


w^ 


u 


l^jQil     STRINGER.  &Co.'s 


Heidenmauer 
The  Pathfinder 
Precaution 

Wept  of  the  Wish-ton-Wish 
Homeward  Bound 
Home  as  Found 
Mercedes  of  Castile 
The  Pioneers 
The  Prairie 
-The  Two  Admirals 
The  Headsman 


M  •'{  I         *<*i  3  V-" 


}--(;:■ 

I  . 


50 

M 

(( 
II 
IC 
(( 
II 
11 
II 
.  II 
II 


'   '■-•'^'fe^■fi-^.1•?  f 


The  Deerslayer 

The  Bravo 

The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

The  Monikins 

The  Travelling  Bachelor 

Wyandotte 

Ned  Myers  . 

The  Chainbearer   I    •  -  • ' 

Cratur 

Jack  Tier ;  or,  the  Florida  Reef 

Oak  Openings ;  or,  the  Bee  Hunter 


A- -I 


■ktJ^^ 


i,- 


,  <t! 


50 

II 

II 

fi 
II 
II 


JVOVEL.S  OF  SIR  E.  L..  BUJLWER. 


Alice ;  or,  the  Mysteries 

Devereux 

The  Disowned 

Ernest  Maltravers 

Eugene  Aram 

The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii 

Rienzi 

Zanoni 


50 

II 

II 
II 
II 
II 
II 
II 


The  Last  of  the  Barons 

Leila;  or,  the, Siege  of  Grenada 

Night  and  Morning 

PaulCliflford 

Pelham  '•'•' 

Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine  ;' 

Lucretia 


t-.- . 


NOVELS  OF  G.  P.  R.  JAMES. 


Richelieu 

Mary  of  Burgundy  j 

Philip  Augustus 

Charles  Tyrrell 

Agincourt 

The  Man-at-Arms 

Corse  de  Leon,  the  Brigand 

The  Step-Mother 

Heidelberg 

Beauchamp 

Castle  of  Ehrenstein 

King's  Highway 


Huguenot 


25 

K 
II 
II 
II 
II 
II 

50 

25 

II 

II 
II 

II 


Attila  I 

String  of  Pearls 
The  Robber 
The  Ancient  Regime 
The  Smuggler 
Rose  d'Albret 
Arrah  Neil 
Arabella  Stuart 
The  False  Heir 
Forest  Days 
Russell 

Margaret  Graham 
The  Convict  i 


T*75 
"   50 


.  50 

^-    « 
,  I    11 

K 

.  12 

I  25 


25 
ti 

II 

II 

II 

13 

II 

II 
II 
II 
II 

06 
25 


NOVELS  OF  BENJAMIN  ©'ISRAELI. 


Coningsby ;  or,  the  New  Generation 

Contarina  Fleming 

Henrietta  Temple 

Venetia 

Vivian  Grey 

Wondrous  Tale  of  Alroy 


25 

(I 

II 

25 

11 

(I 


Young  Duke  ,  ! 

Rise  of  Iskander  , 

Five  Nights  of  St.  Albans 
Sybil ;  or  'the  Two  Nations 
Tancred 


WORKS  OF  EUGENE  SUE. 


Matilda 

Mysteries  of  Pans 
Temptation 

De  Rohan ;  or,  Latreaumont 
The  Female  Blue  Beard 
Salamander 
Widow's  Walk 
ohn  Cavalier 


1  00   Therese  Dunoyer 

50    Arthur 

25    Colonel  de  Surville 
Hercules  Hardy 
Wandering  Jew 
Commander  of  Malta 
Martin  the  Foundling 
Seven  Capital  Sins.    Plates 

WORKS  OF  DUMAS. 


25 

i< 

II 
II 
II 


25 

II 

13 


Count  of  Monte  Christo 

The  Three  Guardsmen 

Twenty  Years  After 

Ten  Years  After ;  Sequel  to  ditto 

Amaury 

Capt.  Paul. 

Chevalier  D^Harmental        ^ 

Devil's  Wedding  Ring 

Duke  of  Burgundy 

Genevieve 


00 
50 
75 
60 
25 


50 


Crimes  of  the  Borgias 
Diana  of  Meridor 
George  the  Planter 
Isabel  of  Bavaria 
Lucretia  Borgia 
Monsieur  Antoine 
Memoirs  of  a  Physician 
Regent's  Daughter 
Secret  Tribunal 
Sylvandre 


100 

25 

^     100 


100 

50 

II 

25 

50 

100 

25 


:>4 


.  V  r:«»-,?**»lr'>*«ww:<»r--  <^]^'  *;' 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS. 


fl 


tejj 


NOVELS  OF  CAPT.  MARRY  AT. 


■*■ 


Masterman  Ready  '.  75 1 

The  SettleiB  in  Canada  38 1 

Fiank  Mild  may ;  or,  the  Naval  Officer 

J^b  Faithful 

Japbet  in  Search  of  a  Father 

Tne  King's  Own 

>Bdshipman  Easy       #»   ,-,   -\    ■ 

Nfwton  Forster 

T|e  Pacha  oi  Many  Tales 

WORKS  OF  CHARLES  DrCKENS    (BOZ.) 


Peter  Simple  ^.    . 

The  Phantom  Ship  "*" 

25  1  Poor  Jack 

Snarley  Yow,  the  Dog  Fiend 
Monsieur  Violet  ,  , 

Joseph  Rushbrook 
The  Pirate  and  Three  Cutters 


i9V 


Ardent  Troughton 


Nicholas  Nickleby 
The  Old  Curiosity  Shop 
Pickwick  Papers 
Barnaby  Rudge 
Martin  Chuzzlewit 
Sketches  of  Every  Day  Life 

^^    *  WORKS  OF  MISS  PICKERING. 


50 

ii 

(I 
(( 
(i 

38 


Christmas  Carol 
The  Chimes 
Oliver  Twist 
America^  Notes 
Dombey  &  Son 


Agnes  Serle 

Cousin  Hinton 

The  Merchant's  Daughter 

The  Squire 

The  Heiress 

The  Cluiet  Husband 

The  Grumbler 


25 

IC 

(I 
<l 
(( 
(I 

13 


The  Secret  Foe 

The  Fright 

The  Expectant 

The  Prince  and  Pedler 

Nan  Darrell 

Who  Shall  be  Heir 

Grandfather 


2S 

i( 

<c 
(( 
(( 
M 
« 
« 


6  and  50 

6  and  50 

25 

13 

50 


25 

« 

i< 

M 
M 

« 


Via.  S> 


4 


MEDICINE,   PHYSIOLOGY,  8oc. 


38 


Advice  to  Mothers 
"        Wiv€s 

Abemethy's  Family  Physician 

Arnott's  Physics ;  or,  Natural  Philosophy 

Babilard's  Physiology  .^.  1 

Broussais'  Self  Preservation 

Bostwick's  Nature  and  Treatment  of 
Seminal  Diseases,  Impotency,  and 
kindred  Affections  1 

Bayle's  Elementary  Treatise  on  Anatomy  87 

Brigham  on  Mental  Excitement 

Bartlett's  Philosophy  of  Medicine 

Brewster's  Treatise  on  Optics 

Babbage's  Fragments 

Buckland's  Geology,    2  vols. 


50 

00 

50 


00 


Bridgewater  Treatises.     7  vols.. 


3287 


pag^ 

Combe's  Phrenology.    100  plates  150 

"       Constitution  of  Man  50 

"       Moral  Philosophy  " 

"        Elements  of  Phrenology  " 

"       Physiology  of  Digestion  " 

Consumption  Curable  25 

Childbirth  Without  Pain  50 

Challey's  Midwifery  2  0% 

Cooper's  Dictionary  of  Practical  Surgery  3  87 
Copland's  Dictionary  of  Practical  Medi- 
cine.   3  vols,  each  5  00 
Cruveilhier'^  Anatomy  of  the  Human 

Body  3  00 

Cyclopedia  of  Practical  Medicine 


Carpenter's  Principles  of  Human  Physi- 
'    ology 

"        Elements:    or,    Manual     of 
Physiology 
Connexion  Between  Physiology  and  In-        - 

tellectual  Science 
Carpenter's  Popular  Vegetable  Physio- 
logy 
Cyclopedia  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology 
Coates'  Popular  Medicine 
Churchill  on  the  Diseases  of  Females 
Cooper  on  Dislocations  and  Fractures 
"    On  Hernia 

"    On  the  Testis  and  Thymus  Gland 
Dixon's,  Dr.,  Diseases  of  the  Sexual  Or- 
gans 
Doane's  Surgery  Tlustrated.    25  plates  4  00 
Dunglison's  Medical  Dictionary 
'•  Human  Physiologry 

"  Practices  of  Medicine 

"         Humkn  Health 
"         Medical  Student 
Dewees  on  Females  -v     v 

"         Children  .      ; 

Druit's  Principles  and  Practices  of  Mo- 
dem Surgery 
Ellis's  Medical  Formulary  ^ 

Ferguson's  Practical  Sui^ery  * 

Gait's  Treatment  of  Insanity       \.  2  00 

I  Good's  Study  of  Medicine  •  5  00 

'  Graham's  Elements  of  Chemistry 


Stxinger   &   Townsend's  Advertiser.— March,  1849. 


Mttif  antr  Bntttt&iint^  Wsitk» 


IN     COURSE     OF     PUBLICATION  \ 

BY  STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND 

NEW    YORK. 


? 


I. 
OKKAT  HISTORICAL  ROMANCK. 

1812 ;  or  Napoleon's  Invasion  of 

Russia.  From  the  German  of  Rell- 
STAB.  ^ 

One  of  the  most  powerful  historical  romances 
ever  issued  from  the  press.  The  book  is  full  of 
brilliant  scenes,  depicting,  with  a  truthfulness 
unsurpassed,  the  terrible  sufferings  of  Napoleon's 
army,  in  their  retreat  from  the  unfortunate  inva- 
sion of  Russia.  The  author's  treatment  of  the 
subject  is  as  masterly  as  his  conception  of  it  is 
bold  and  original. 

II. 

Femande;    or  The  Fallen  Angel. 

Translated  from  the  Frenclief  Dumas. 

A  tale  of  much  amusement  and  interest.  We 
heartily  commend  it  to  our  readers  as  a  very 
pleasant  and  a  very  clever  work.  The  story 
exhibits  the  brilliance  and  dramatic  effect  for 
which  Dumas  is  so  celebrated; 

III. 

Dermot  O'Brien;  or  the  staking  op 

Tredagh.  An  historical  tale  of  the  times 
of.  Cromwell.  With  illustrations  by  the 
Author,  H.  W.  Herbert,  Esq.,  author 
o?  "The  Field  Sports,"  "The  Roman 
Traitor,"  &c. 

IV. 

Jeremiah  Saddlebag's  Adventures 
in  the  G-old  Diggins.  A  series  of 
Comic    Illustrations,  by  Read,  of  over 

100  Engra^gs. 

To  all  who  love  real  humor  and  harmless  fun, 
this  book  will  be  an  indescribable  treat:  its 
good  points  will  be  acknowledged  by  all. 


::.><■ 


V. 


A  NEW  NOVEL  BT  COOPER. 

The  Sea  Lions ;  or  The  Lost  Seal- 
ers. A  Tale  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
The, reputation  of  J.  Fenimore  Cooper  is  so 
celebrated,  especially  in  his  sea  stories,  that  we 
take  pleasure  in  announcing  to  his  many  and 
numerous  admirers  this  new  production  from  his 
pen.  In  interest  it  is  equal  to  "  The  Water 
Witch,"  "  The  PUot,"  "  The  Two  Admirals," 
and  others  of  his  most  popular  sea  stories.  Will 
be  ready  early  in  April.  .    ^ 

VI. 

Clement  Lorimer;    or  The  Book 

WITH  THE  Iron  Clasps.     Illustrated  by 
George  Cruikshank. 

f-  VH.       I    •  •    '•■  ■• 

The  King's  Musketeer.   An  Histori. 

cal  Romance  of  the  Huguenots,  and  the 
Times  of  the  Bartholomew  Massacre. 

vrii.    .1  »o 

lAiranda.  A  Tale  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. By  Perot  B.  St.  John,  Autho"^ 
of  »  The  Trapper's  Bride,"  "  The  En" 
chanted  Rock,"  &c.  m 

'f-    ;  ■ 

Jane  Shore;  or  The  Goldsmith's 
Wife.  An  Historical  Tale.  By  the  Au- 
thor of  "  The  Jew's  Daughter,"  dec. 


Frank  Farleigh;  or  Scenes  from 
the  Life  of  a  Private  PupiIi.  With 
Designs  by  Cruikshank.  ■     "  ' 


4/    ■  m 


^:^■¥■ 

». 

' '     ' 

«l.  . 

« 

'.  f 

«».    ■  ■=• 


f^* 


.r 


•? 


V 


